


Dancing On Glass

by Livdonna



Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sadness, Self-Hatred, The heroin diaries, Trauma, Why do I do this, nikki is a hot mess, nikki is stubborn, save nikki 2k19, the dirt, tommy is wholesome af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livdonna/pseuds/Livdonna
Summary: I dress my pain up with leather and cover it up with being defensive just to get through the Hell in my head. Just to get through life.I also cover it up with heroin.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! So because of all the positive feedback on "Courtsey Call" I decided to turn it into a full blown story... just changing the name... I'm in my own recovery so writing pieces like this hold a special place in my heart and actually help me cope and deal with my own shit, so I figured why not. Warning you: this is gonna be emotional; it's gonna be deep, and it's gonna be RAW. Addiction and recovery are hard shit to get through! Enjoy! ❤

Nikki's P.O.V.

December 23rd 1987:

My mind is fogged. My body is weak. I've never felt so confused and delirious in my life. What the hell has my life come to?

I woke up in a hospital bed, my vision blurry, and my body sore. Once my vision cleared, Tommy's face appeared, hovering over me. He looked so upset, but also relieved. My heart broke at the sight, because I can't forgive myself for scaring him so badly.

"Nikki... oh my god.... thank god."

He was holding back tears. All I could manage was a weak smile.

Then, all of a sudden, it hit me.  
I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest. I was not supposed to be here. I should not be in a fucking hospital! I should be DEAD.

I can hear my heart monitor going haywire, and the look on Tommy's face turned from relief to panic. 

"Sixx.... It's okay.... you gotta relax."

I couldn't focus on his voice. In fact, I couldn't focus on anything, except the fact that I needed to get out of that goddamn place.

"What the fuck am I doing here?!"

I feel close to tears.

"I don't wanna be here! I don't need to be here!"

Without hesitation, and using the bit of energy I do have, I whip my arm over to my IV, having every intention of pulling it out and fleeing....

....until Tommy snatched my hand back, quite roughly.

"Don't you fucking dare."

Shit. He sounded like a stern parent.

It wasn't until then that it hit me, how exhausted I actually was. How much energy it took to try to lift myself up, and how much pain I was actually in, not only mentally, but physically. 

I had that IV in one arm, giving me fluids because I was dehydrated from the overdose, along with an oxygen tube in my nose, a blood pressure cuff on my other arm, and I was connected to a heart monitor that limited my ability to move. I felt so trapped, but at the same time, I really didn't have the energy to try to flee any-more. It's like my body decided to shut down on me.

I was suddenly quiet.

I don't think Tommy knew what to say either, because he just stared at me with a sad expression on his face. We just stared at each other for a good 2 minutes, of eerily silence, until I heard Tommy take a deep breath, and he looked at me. He leaned onto my neck, pulled my bangs away from my head, and let a tear run down his cheek.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, Sixx. I thought I was gonna lose you."

Then, he broke down.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dress my pain up with leather and cover it up with being defensive just to get through the Hell in my head. Just to get through life. I also cover it up with heroin.

Nikki's P.O.V.

"Not all scars show  
Not all wounds heal;  
Sometimes it's just not visible,  
The pain that someone feels"

Early 1987:

I hear people say all the time that they would do anything to have my life; to be able to live their biggest dreams. I hear people tell me how they would love to be me, and how they look up to me, how I'm an idol to them. 

Everyone knows me as someone completely different than who I actually am. 

They see me as the life of the party, always in a good mood, always having a good time. Fucking around with women, fucking around with drugs, being reckless and impulsive, because that's what rockstars do.

That's only one side of me.

What they don't see are the wounds and burdens I carry with me every day. 

I had a pretty fucked up childhood. My mom was a psycho, and my dad was a complete loser. Maybe that's why I ended up the way I am.

A sadistic, depressed, motherfucker.

My dad abandoned me only a few years after I was born, so I have no memories of him. My mother didn't give much attention to me. I always felt like she had more important things to tend to, like all the men she fucked. I never felt like I was worth anything, because both of my parents practically ignored me, so I went off to live with my grandparents. They were like the parents I never had, and made me feel like I had some worth, especially my Nona. 

As a child, I would move from city to city, state to state. I never felt a sense of stability. Whenever I got close to someone I met in one of my schools, I had to leave them, and I would feel alone all over again. I was taught from early on that if I get close to someone, I will end up losing them one way or another.

Besides the few kids that I got close with at school, I was constantly bullied and felt more isolated than ever. I would get beaten up, called names, and taunted every day. Even my stepfather would get extremely violent with me. One day, I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom that he was in, and he saw that I wasn't doing it the exact way he taught me, and he punched me super hard in the face, and left me on the ground practically knocked out. 

After dealing with the torment for so many years, I decided I would have to fend for myself, and that's when I decided to take all of the pain I felt inside, and use it to get back at those bastards. I became very good at using my fists, and before I knew it, I had turned into a reckless, bitter, angry, impulsive teenager.

I had always dreamed of being a rockstar, and music practically saved me during those dark times of my life. Eventually, I joined my first band, and second, and eventually Motley Crue. As the years went on, it seemed like everything was falling into place. 

Not everything was all fun and games as it seemed.

I used my rage and anger to write lyrics, and I put all of my emotions into my music. However, sometimes that just isn't enough. 

It's not as easy as you think being me. It's a lot of work pretending that everything is fine on the outside, when I feel like I'm dying on the inside. The pain that I feel on a daily basis is so deep, that sometimes I feel that even surgery wouldn't be able to fix it. When I'm alone, I sometimes shed tears, and I wish that I can feel just a hint of safety and protection. There are nights when I wake up hyperventilating, with dried tears on my face, because I'm haunted by nightmares of things that I would never wish upon anyone. I start to question everything: why my childhood was so fucked up, why both of my parents didn't love me, why everyone leaves me, and of course, what I did wrong to be treated the way I have been. 

However, I have a bad boy image to maintain, and that's what everyone sees. I can't let my guard down in front of others. I have to be able to trust them fully, and unfortunately, that doesn't come too often, if at all. I've been taught that the only way to protect myself is to use anger. No one can hurt you if you're angry. You'll hurt them first, before they can hurt you. It's a survival mechanism. I end up letting it out through reckless behavior, swearing, outbursts, and destruction. I dress my pain up with leather and cover it up with being defensive just to get through the Hell in my head. Just to get through life.

I also cover it up with heroin.

I had discovered drugs early on, in my teens, through parties and music. It was just what reckless teenagers did. I had always dreamed of being a rockstar, and I had finally made it. 

Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

I wanted to be a rockstar, and I got it, but I also woke up a drug addict.

Heroin gives me something that nothing else can give me. Alcohol can't even give me what heroin can. When I'm losing my mind, the only thing that can save me is smack.

All the pain I feel, and the mental torment, and self-hatred, insecurities, depression; it all just disappears. The second the needle pricks my vein, and the golden liquid rushes through me, I feel a sense of contentment; a feeling that I rarely feel, but long to feel as much as possible. It makes all of the worries go away, and before I know it, I'm floating on a cloud. I stop questioning everything, and I stop remembering the torment. I am completely numbed. I feel safe, invincible, protected. When I feel like I've lost everyone in my life; when I feel like I don't have love; I know I will always have heroin. It'll never leave me, and I will never leave it. It keeps me sane.

It helps me survive.

There's only one catch: I'm not actually surviving. I'm actually falling apart at the seams. 

My dependence for the drugs has gotten stronger, and my tolerance has gotten higher. I love to lie to myself and say that everything is okay, that what I'm doing is harmless, and that I'll be just fine.

It's far from the truth, and I'm smart enough to know that, but I can't stop it, no matter what the consequences are. In reality, I know that it's killing my personality, it's killing my music, and it's slowly killing me. 

Everyone notices. The band notices, the managers notice, the fans might even notice. I feel like I'm constantly being watched, and that I can't be trusted. I can't blame them, but of course I'll never say that out loud. 

Fuck that.

I'm completely fine.

Despite everything that is happening to me because of it, nothing can outweigh the feeling of safety that the junk gives me.

I don't know what the future holds, but what I do know is that it isn't gonna be pretty. 

I just don't know how much longer I can keep my act up, before I completely crash and burn.

And when I do, everyone will be there to see it happen.

Welcome to my fucking life.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy's the only one that's not afraid to confront me, and for some reason, I can be honest with him. We are usually pretty open with each other. I don't know why, but there's something about him that makes it feel okay for me to trust the guy. It's almost as if there's a part of him that genuinely cares. That doesn't happen with a lot of people.

Nikki's P.O.V.

The last thing I want to do right now is go to rehearsal, but here I am walking through the doors, waiting to be greeted by my FAVORITE fucking people. I wonder what shit they'll all give me this time. Every time I walk in, it's like I contaminate the place or something because there's this ridiculous tension the second my feet enter the room. I don't know what I'm doing to them. They all act like they're so put together, when I know the fucking truth. Sure, I'm fucked up, but I'm not the only one! Vince killed a dude and should have ended up in jail, Mick drowns all of his sorrows in alcohol, and Tommy is just plain crazy with all of the blow he does. But, of course none of that matters and it's all surrounded around me tearing the band apart. Maybe if they admit their shit, I'll admit mine. Actually, I don't even need to admit mine. They all know what's going on. I know I'm not fooling them, any-more. I probably never was. I can tell all the lies I want, but I know they are all see through, but I continue doing it.

Why?

Sometimes I just want to know what the hell is wrong with my brain.

They're all standing in a circle, Doc included. I bet they're talking shit about me. It's awkward walking into situations like this. It makes me want to hide away in the bathroom, and shoot up until I pass out... as if I don't do that already.

"Well look who decided to show up."

Oh, well hello to you too, Vince. He's so much of a diva, he gets an unlimited supply of eye rolls from me. He's so full of himself, you know that? He makes me wanna vomit.

"We've been waiting for the past 20 minutes. Where the hell were you?!"

There's Doc. And as always, he loves to remind me of how late I am. Every single day.

My mind is still kinda fogged from the heroin I shot up. Then it hits me. 

20 minutes?! 

I look at the clock on the wall, and I am indeed almost a half hour late. 

SHIT.

I ignore him, which receives aggravated sighs from Mick, Vince, and Tommy. Aren't they used to it by now? Seriously, they're acting like this has never happened before.

"It's later every time, Nikki. When are you gonna get your shit together and actually take this seriously?"

What a second. When am I gonna take this band seriously? 

"When do I take this seriously?! You'd be completely fucked without me! You'd have no goddamn songs!"

I know I sound completely fucked up, but it's the truth. None of them can write. If I left, they would be screwed.

"If you gave a shit, you wouldn't show up late to every damn rehearsal, high out of your fucking mind!"

Another voice pops in.

"Oh shut up, Vince! As if you never did anything before!"

He's right, but Jesus Christ, T-Bone, don't get into it.

"Oh, and YOU'RE talking?! You're the one who has a fight with your girlfriend every other day and ends up shit faced!"

I can't take it anymore. This is getting fucking ridiculous. We can never get through a damn meeting without arguing.

Doc seemed to agree and screamed.

"OKAY, CAN YOU STOP ACTING LIKE FUCKING CHILDREN AND GET SHIT DONE!"

Obviously, that didn't phase any of them, except Mick. The other two keep on arguing with each other.

"We ain't gonna get shit done until Nikki decides to get his ass in gear!"

My whole body is tensing up, and I feel like I'm about to explode, and I do.

"Oh my god, would you let up already?!"

Mick, jumped in, before I could continue.

"Nikki, you know we just wanna make sure everything's alright with you."

I can feel myself cracking. My anger is bubbling. I swear to god, if any one of them come one step closer to me, I am going to throw something. 

"Everything is fine! I don't get what the big fucking deal is! You know, all we're doing here is wasting MORE time!"

Before I can breath, Vince is up in my face, sneering, with his arms crossed.

"If everything is fine, show me your arms."

I stare at him, dead in the face. 

"Excuse me?"

He doesn't hesitate to answer, and use that sarcasm he loves so much.

"You heard me. I'll repeat it in case you didn't hear me. If everything is fine, show me your arms."

I can't believe the damn bastard. I stand there with my arms crossed. No way in hell. I'm not sucking up to him. Instead, I do what I do best. Be stubborn and defiant.

"No."

He looks at me with a stern, but shocked expression.

"No?"

I stare dead in his eyes. It's my turn to be a wise-ass.

"You heard me. No."

And this is when I realize, I'm gonna get slaughtered.

The next thing I know, I'm on the floor with a fist in my face. Before I can look up to see which bastard is onto me, I receive another blow, this time in my chest. I whip my head up, and without hesitation, kick the bastard right in the groin, and give him three punches in the jaw. I've always been good with my fists.

"YOU'D BE FUCKED WITHOUT ME! YOU WOULDN'T HAVE ANY GODDAMN SONGS!"

We were at each other for another few minutes, until I feel Mick dragging me away. The guy is strong despite his weak back. I give him so much credit for dealing with us all of these years.

"Nikki, Jesus, what has gotten into you?!"

I'm too humiliated and ashamed to answer him. I put the poor guy through so much shit, and it just keeps on getting worse.

I just stand there, and after a ridiculous amount of awkward silence, all I need to do is get the hell out of there. I feel so fucking confined and trapped. I'm sick of all of them treating me like a kid.

I can feel angry tears beginning to well in my eyes, and before I let Mick see, I'm halfway out of the room.

"You know what? Fuck this! I'm done."

Before I get a response, I stomp out the door, bass in my hand, and speed away in my motorcycle. I can hear T-Bone screaming my name in the distance, but no way in hell am I satisfying them and going back. If they're gonna fuck me over, I'm not wasting my energy on writing shit for them. They can figure it out themselves.

About 5 minutes after I settle into my house and shoot a bit of dope, I hear a knock on my door. I groan and scream in a raspy voice.

"GET OUT!"

I don't need anyone here. I need to be left the fuck alone. 

"Don't pull that shit on me Sixx. You don't let me in I'll come in myself. You know I have the keys."

Oh for gods sake, of course Tommy would show up. There's no use in arguing. I know he'll let himself in whether I like it or not.

"FINE!"

I slam my head into my hands, and lay face down on my floor. Sometimes I wonder if I already made it to Hell.

"Dude, you gotta stop walking out like that. This is becoming a weekly thing now."

I lift my head up exasperated.

"I'm losing my patience with you guys! Every rehearsal is a fucking shit show, and you know it." 

Tommy bites his lip and nods his head pretty pathetically. 

"Yeah.... but you actin like a kid isn't making it any better, dude!"

I roll over, and sit up.

"Treat me like an adult and maybe I'll act like one. Treat me like a kid, and I'll act like one.... And hey, maybe if they treat me right, I might not mind being around them."

He rolls his eyes.

"You never want to be around them, and you know it."

"Ok fine, but it would make it a bit more.... tolerable."

Neither one of us say anything for a few minutes. I'm fidgeting and playing with my hands, sitting on the ground, and Tommy is looking around my room. 

"See anything you like?"

Always the sarcasm. Always.

I get a light laugh, but that's it. This is getting awkward. I can't sit still, so I get up and start pacing around. I probably look like a crazy person. Who am I kidding? I am a mental case.

Tommy finally takes a breath.

"Look, Nikki. I'm your friend, and I hope you know I got your back. You can tell me whatever, whenever. I'm here for anything."

I know where he's going with this. He's gonna make me show him my arms, because I wouldn't do it there.

"I know T-Bone. But some things you can't fix, man..."

Hate to be like that, but it's the truth. He's not gonna let up though, and I know it.

"You know what I wanna see."

I stop pacing. I knew it. He's so predictable.

Tommy's the only one that's not afraid to confront me, and for some reason, I can be honest with him. We are usually pretty open with each other. I don't know why, but there's something about him that makes it feel okay for me to trust the guy. It's almost as if there's a part of him that genuinely cares. That doesn't happen with a lot of people. 

"Sixx."

I snap out of my trance, and look At him. His hands are out toward me, like he's trying to lure me somewhere.

I just stand there. I hate ratting myself out, even though he knows what he'll see. It's humiliating for me to expose it... to show that I have weak points, and that there's another side of me that people don't see. I don't even like admitting my problems to myself, because it makes everything so much more REAL.

"Look, man. You really don't need t---"

"Sixx."

He sounds like a fucking parent.

I feel like a bad student at school, who's about to go in the corner for time-out. I squeeze my eyes shut, uncross my arms, and speak through gritted teeth.

"Fine."

With a lot of hesitation, I roll up my sleeves to reveal the hideous things. Tommy holds them in his hands, and can fit his wrist around my forearm. His eyes go wide, just seeing how thin they are. That just makes me feel even worse.

His jaw drops the second he takes in the mess of bruises, scabs, and cuts, that are my arms.

"Jesus Christ... "

I stare at him, slightly frustrated.

"What? You surprised or something?"

He takes a deep breath, and looks at them again.

"I wasn't expecting them to be this bad."

I mean, I can't really blame him. There wasn't much space where track marks and bruises didn't cover them, and I have lost a good amount of weight since the last time I revealed my arms. I guess I would be shocked too if I saw what he did.

"Sixx... how often do you do this shit?"

I honestly had stopped keeping track. Everything blurs together when all your life revolves around is heroin and Jack and isolation.

"It's eating away at you."

He sounds so repulsed, but at the same time, sad.

I don't know what to say, so I just look around my room, at all of the papers scattered around the floor, the burnt spoons, cigarette butts, and of course, empty bottles of Jack that I never threw out. What a luxurious place to live in. It would make a fantastic hotel.

"You wanna eat something?"

Wait what?

I took up at him, blink a few times, and furrow my brows in confusion.

"You're so fucking skinny. When's the last time you ate real food?"

I pick up several candy wrappers that are on the floor.

"Oh what, this isn't "real" food?!"

"A baby can eat more than that, Sixx."

I groan.

"Why the hell does it matter? Seriously? I'm alive, aren't I? I think I'm doing pretty good for all the shit that's goin down. Wouldn't you say?"

"Are you fucking with me? You wanna collapse on stage because the only shit goin into your body is Jack and heroin?!"

"Dude, relax. If it was gonna happen, it would have happened already."

Tommy looks completely horrified.

"You gotta stop fooling yourself, Sixx... You're not invincible. At some point you're gonna realize that this shit is gonna kill you and you're gonna have to stop."

"T-Bone.... come on, man...."

I put my arms out to hug him, but he smacks them away.

"Look at you. You're too fucking high to comprehend anything I'm saying. You can't even keep your goddamn eyes open."

Even in my semi-conscious state, I know it's the truth.

I'm so fucked up.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm still always trying to convince myself that he's just in some kind of fucked up phase and that it'll pass eventually, but I would be lying to myself.

Tommy's P.O.V.

1987:

I was 19 years old when I first met Nikki. He was 23.

It was 1981. 

He was looking for a drummer for his band, Motley Crue, and invited me to his house to interview me. I was so fucking excited! 

I was greeted by an insanely tall dude, dressed in all black, leather everything, and huge platform boots with chains that clacked as he walked.

The first thing I noticed about him was that I couldn't see his eyes. His hair was so fucking big, and his bangs covered half of his face. He was asking me questions about the types of music I liked, but I couldn't focus on answers because I kept trying to see his eyes. We were also in a pretty dark room, with the only light coming from 2 candles he lit, which didn't help. But all in all, I thought he was a pretty cool guy. He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me, and really wanted me to drum for the band. When I showed off my skills for the first time, he had a spark of happiness in his eyes. 

That is how I ended up as the wild fucker I am today.

From that moment on, I knew we would be the perfect pair. We would always cause scenes wherever we went, and did the most outrageous and obnoxious things that pissed everyone off, but we didn't care! It was fucking hysterical!

We became known as the Terror Twins.

There can't be one without the other. It just wouldn't work out. 

However, 6 years later, it seems like the tight grip we held on each other is slowly slipping away. 

Nikki has been nothing but a walking disaster. He's showing up to rehearsals late, incoherent, high out of his mind. He's been having these pretty crazy mood swings, when sometimes he'll leave the studio, and it's completely uncalled for. He's drifting away from the music. There's been a few times that he tried to teach us a new song that he wrote, and it turns out that he already taught it to us, but he doesn't remember that... or he'll come in with some fucked up lyrics that he calls a song, and I know that he's putting in the most effort he can, but how much can you do when you're a full time junkie? But then again, no one else in the band writes songs, so we rely on him, hardcore, screwed up or not. He's the one that got this band together, and he will always be the leader, no matter how fucked up he is. His music will always be important to him.

Yesterday was a complete shit show, like every rehearsal usually is. He showed up late, Doc got mad, Vince interrogated him, which ended with him and Nikki beating each other up, and poor Mick had to break them apart. 

And of course, Nikki stormed out.

I showed up at his house, and he looked like shit. He's gotten so fucking thin, he could probably wear women's clothes, and they would hang off of him. I had him show me his arms, and they looked horrible. It actually scared me how I was able to fit my hand around his wrist, and how some of those cuts look like they could be infected. We didn't say much to each other after that, because he was doped out of his mind, and stopped listening to what I was saying.

I'm still always trying to convince myself that he's just in some kind of fucked up phase and that it'll pass eventually, but I would be lying to myself. 

I always knew heroin was too good to be true.

I'll never forget the time Nikki had me try it. I was in his house, and he was getting his fix set up, when I decided that I wanted to try it. Obviously, there was a reason why Nikki loved it so much, and I had to know why. Plus, blow and alcohol got boring after a while. I was always up for an adventure and experimenting with new things.

When I told him I wanted to try it, he had the biggest look of excitement plastered on his face. I didn't know how to inject, or to cook, or to set any of it up, so I had him do it. He seemed like he would be the expert in this situation, and plus, I trusted him. I remember him taking out a big syringe, and I got chills. I've never been a fan of needles, but I would face it if the outcome would be worth it. 

It wasn't though.

The needle hurt when it was injected, and the second he took it out, I had the biggest wave of nausea. I ended up running to the bathroom and puking my guts out. It felt like it went on forever, and when it ended, I hardly made it back out before I passed out.

When I woke up, I just thought to myself, why would anyone want to do this shit?

Obviously, Nikki didn't think the same way.

As the years passed from that day, it was becoming more and more evident that he wasn't doing this for fun any-more.

He is doing it because it's controlling him. 

It seemed so innocent at first, just trying the drug because that's what we did, but there comes a point where if you continue using the drug to just stay normal, that is when it becomes a problem.

That's what happened.

I'll never forget when I asked him to be my best man at my wedding. That was a shit show.

He was trying to get off heroin, and was going through withdrawals. You know how I just said you know you have a drug problem when you use them to be normal? I don't think Nikki knew how to be normal when he wasn't high. It's like he completely forgot how to socialize. He was sweating bullets, emaciated, and white as a board. My whole family was shocked when they saw him. 

When it was time for him to make his speech, he completely screwed that up. He couldn't form a coherent sentence, and just mumbled through it.

At some point, he kept disappearing to the bathroom and would come out a totally different person, and that's when I realized that he was shooting up at my fucking wedding.

The thing with Nikki is that he can't just do something once. He can't just do a little bit of coke, or have a little bit of alcohol. No, he has to have ALL the coke, or ALL the alcohol. It's like he has no balance, and that's what screws him up. 

It's been really rough watching him slowly spiral into a black hole of addiction. I always know when he's high, because he doesn't talk much, and everyone knows that Nikki doesn't shut up. He's a complete control freak, but now that something else has the controlling grip on him, he doesn't have the motivation to take charge. I hardly see him outside of rehearsals and recording sessions, because he locks himself in his "heroin den" , his mansion. He just sits around in there, high out of his fucking mind, probably trying to write new lyrics, but not succeeding, or he's drinking himself into a stupor, as if one addiction isn't enough.

I like to check up on him, not because I'm trying to be his parent, but because I'm his friend, and I miss him. I would do anything to try to help him, but everyone is right. Nikki is a very stubborn, strong-willed motherfucker, and he doesn't take shit from anyone, except if that force is drugs. He denies the problem straight out, when even I know that he's smart enough to realize that he's slipping away.

It's always scary when I visit him. I never know what I'm gonna walk into. Sometimes he's half conscious on the floor of his bathroom, making no sense, because he just shot up. Other times, he's sitting on his floor, with a pile of paper, scribbling words like a maniac. 

Then, there are the times where I find him hiding in his closet, with his gun right next to him. 

Those are the days that he mixes heroin with cocaine. The combination makes him completely paranoid, where I have to be extremely gentle with him, to be able to lure him out of the closet, and convince him that no one is out to get him, and that he's safe with me. It takes a while, because he is so convinced that he is being watched, and that the cops are in his house, ready to take him away. When I finally get him out, he clings right into me, as if he thinks I'll disappear if he lets go of me. It's actually heartbreaking, seeing Nikki in a vulnerable state, where he looks so small, and fragile.

I know, I know. Who would have thought anyone would ever use the word "fragile" to describe Nikki....

....but there's parts of people that not everyone sees, I guess.

Everyone has their demons, but we're good at covering them up. I always wonder what goes on inside of Nikki's head. What is it like in there? I know he didn't have the best childhood, but I don't know details. I wonder if that could be fueling the self-destruction in any way. I wouldn't be too surprised. I've always been told that if you don't deal with your real shit, it'll come out in a different way. If that's not true for Nikki, I don't know what is.

I hope that one day he will be able to open up to me about what's actually going on. 

I just want him to trust me.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to face the reality of the situation. All I want is for someone to tell me that this is a dream, and that this wasn't happening. I couldn't be happening. I couldn't even get myself to cry. Sometimes pain is too intense that you end up shutting down and all you can feel is numbness.

Nikki's P.O.V.

January 1987:

Tommy showed up at my house, again. I was sitting in the middle of my room, with my ratty pile of papers that I like to call my "diary", scribbling down whatever fucked up ideas for songs that were popping into my head, when without warning, my door snapped open and T-Bone ran over to me. He ruffled my tangled mess of hair and screamed in my face.

"SIXX! HEY BUDDY!"

I jumped, and I could have sworn I felt my heart skip 3 beats.

"Jesus Christ T-Bone! What the   
fuck!"

He didn't even answer, before he yanked my arm to drag me up. He had hit a sore spot, where one of my cuts was bruising. I tried my best to hide the pain as he dragged me off the ground.

"What the Hell are you doing?"

"I'm getting your ass out of this house for the night. You need contact with the outside world, dude. I haven't seen you in days and I miss you. Come on!"

He pulled on me like an excited five year old kid, until I let go. I don't understand how he can be so happy all the time. 

"T-Bone..." I really wasn't in the mood to do anything, not that I ever am, but lately I've been isolating more than I ever have, and it feels like it takes so much energy just to get out of bed sometimes. 

"Don't T-Bone me, Sixx. There's a party goin on a few blocks down! Don't you wanna get wasted with me?"

He sounded so excited. Actually, he was probably already drunk. I sighed.

"Can't we do this another time?"

I don't think he heard me at all, because he kept going on.

"Come on Sixx. It'll be fun!"

He was staring at me with these big puppy dog eyes. It made me feel like an asshole. I squeezed my eyes shut, took a breath in, and looked at him.

"Can't we just drink here?"

I mean, seriously. It's not like I didn't have enough bottles of Jack in my own house for the both of us.

Tommy looked confused.

"Why here?"

I laughed.

"Why not here? It'll just be the two of us. We could spend time together like we used to... We won't have much time alone together when we start touring in a few months..."

Okay, to be honest, god knows when we would even start touring. We are still in the process of recording "Girls, Girls, Girls" , and I'm still trying to write a few more songs if I can. But, T-Bone is so dumb sometimes that he'll go with anything I say, especially if he's already buzzed. 

I just don't want to get out of the house.

Tommy stared into space for a good 30 seconds, as if he was taking in what I just said, and then nodded his head.

"That's true."

I told you.

He wrapped his arms around me like a little kid, when I suddenly smelled alcohol on his breath.

I eyed him, suspiciously.

"Are you already drunk?"

"Maybe...."

"I fucking knew it."

I jabbed him in the chest, and smirked. 

"You're a piece of work you know that ."

* * *

After a few hours, multiple lines of coke, and 6 empty bottles of Jack later, we were fucking wasted.

Tommy was babbling on about random shit that I couldn't understand, and I was so fucked up, I could hardly get myself to move without stumbling all over the place.

"You knowww.... Sixx... you're my bessst friendddd...."

Tommy was up in my face, grinning. 

"Dudeeee, get offf of me. You act like you're fiveeee."

Why did he have to be such a sappy piece of shit?

The rest of that night was a blur. 

A few hours later, we both passed out.

* * * 

"Mommy?" I asked in a timid voice, "Where's Daddy?"

My mother looked at me with sad eyes but a warm smile, "He went off somewhere, but don't worry. You'll see him again."

I looked into my mothers eyes. "Will I though?" 

My mother started walking towards the door as she spoke, "Only time will tell. Now I'll be back. I have to run errands. Just remember don't talk to strangers..."

Before she could put her hand on the handle, I grabbed her and a desperate cry escaped my lips.

"MOMMY! DON'T LEAVE!"

She turned to me, as I was pleading, with sympathetic eyes. "Baby, I'll be right back. I have to do adult things." She rubbed my head, and gave me a kiss on the cheek, "You'll be fine, baby."

And there she left me, feeling helpless and alone, still whimpering hoping that my mommy would turn back and save me...

She never returned, and neither did dad.

* * * 

I was woken up by the obnoxious ringing of my phone on my dresser. I let out a groan, rolling myself over onto my stomach, hiding my head in my pillow. As if the dream I had wasn't bad enough, now the fucking phone won't leave me alone. I still had a pounding headache from last night's drinking fest with T-Bone, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk to anyone. Not to mention, I was still coming down from the smack, and it's around this time that I need my morning fix. I feel like shit, and I probably sound like shit too. Who would want to talk to me this early anyway?

It eventually stopped ringing, so I let myself relax, hoping to fall right back asleep, but as soon as I curled myself up, the ringing started again.

All of a sudden, I hear a loud groan coming from the other end of the room.

"Nikki, would you answer the goddamn phone already?!"

Oh fuck. I forgot Tommy ended up crashing here. I lifted my head up to see him sprawled out across the floor. My room was a complete mess. There were bottles of Jack everywhere, and some were broken. Tommy's cigarettes were scattered across the floor, and one of my dressers was knocked over. What the fuck even happened last night?

My head suddenly started pounding and it felt like it weighed 100 pounds. I squeezed my eyes shut, and covered my head with my blanket.

"Sixxxxxxx...." 

Goddammit.

I let out a frustrated whine, and stretched my arm out to the receiver. It felt like if I moved any more, I would get sick. "Fineeeeee...."

I cleared my throat, and coughed a few times, before speaking.

"Hello....?"

Wow, I really did sound like shit, and Tommy doesn't hesitate to tell me that himself.

"Dude.... you sound horrible."

I sent a glare his way, and he just smirked at me.

"Shut up Tommy. As if you look any better."

If looks could kill....

I still didn't know who called me, and I was so distracted that I didn't realize that the person on the other line had been trying to get my attention for the past minute or so. 

"If right now's not a good time..."

Somehow I snapped out of my daze, and was able to make out my grandfather's voice on the other end.

"No... no... I'm sorry... "

I probably sound so pathetic. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little embarrassed right now.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

I can't tell him I'm hungover as fuck and coming down from drugs. I use my favorite excuse.

"Oh no... I think I'm comin down with something...."

There was a period of silence. Neither one of us said anything, until my grandpa's voice came in again. He sounded sad.

"I... I don't know how to tell you this."

I suddenly became confused.

"What are you talking about?"

I was also getting a little nervous. My grandpa was never one to beat around the bush, but I could tell he was hesitating. I suddenly felt a pit in my stomach, as I heard a deep breath from the other end.

"Nona... she passed this morning."

It was in that moment, that I truly felt my world was crashing down.

I sat there frozen, not being able to form words. I blinked a few times, trying to snap myself back to reality, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to face what I just found out.

"Hello?"

Chills went up my whole body, and I felt even sicker than I did before.

"Are you there?"

I snapped back, suddenly.

"I.... I gotta go...."

I hung up, and ran to the bathroom. I almost didn't make it before the contents of my stomach splattered across the bath tub. I could hear T-Bone's voice in the distance.

"Dudeeee.... You okay in there?"

I was anything but okay, but I wasn't gonna tell him that.

"Just... withdrawals..."

I didn't want to face the reality of the situation. All I want is for someone to tell me that this is a dream, and that this wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening.

I couldn't even get myself to cry. Sometimes pain is too intense that you end up shutting down and all you can feel is numbness.

My Nona, the one person in my life who genuinely cared about me, who loved me like a mother, and treated me like her son, was gone.

Using the remaining energy that I had, I dragged my weak and tired body over to the dresser in the bathroom. I opened up the top drawer, which is where I keep all of my rigs and dope, and set myself up. I don't give a shit what Tommy thinks. He wouldn't understand the level of pain I'm feeling right now after what I just found out.

It's like there's a hole in my soul, and it just keeps on getting bigger.

I feel so empty.

As I felt the smack kicking in, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and actually cringed at the sight. The dark circles under my eyes are gray, and my skin lost all of its color. My eyeliner is smudged across my face because I never bother to wash it off, and my hair is sticking up in every direction possible. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I look like a goddamn mess.

If I was anyone else, I would be scared if I saw THAT walking down the street.

If my grandpa saw me right now, he would be horrified.

Is that what I look like all the time?

I stumble my way out of the bathroom, and plop myself back down on my bed. I was quiet and just wanted to pass out. I would do anything to escape the hell that I'm walking through. 

I just layed there, doped out, disconnected, and after about 3 minutes, I felt a hand shaking my shoulder.

"Earth to Sixx.... hello? Anyone in there?"

What the fuck?

I turn my head and see Tommy. Apparently he was trying to get my attention for the past 5 minutes.

"Oh good, you're alive."

I roll my eyes and smirk.

"No, I'm dead. Leave me alone."

I shove my face back onto the pillow. Hopefully I'll just pass out so I won't need to deal with any of this shit. 

Is that too much to ask?

"You look dead."

I don't even move.

"Thanks, bud."

Even in the state I was in, I still couldn't shield the pain that was jabbing at my heart.

It would have broken Nona's heart if she saw me right now. If she saw the mess that I'm in, she would be devastated. She never would have wanted this for her grandson, and I know that, because she actually treated me like a human being. I felt a genuine sense of worth and love that came from her, that I didn't get with anyone else, besides my grandpa. 

But what else should I have expected? All of the good people in my life end up leaving. I'm used to it.

It doesn't matter though. 

Nona was different. 

With my head shoved in the blankets, I really hope T-Bone doesn't notice the tears that are dripping from my eyes.

That's the last thing I need him to see.... that I'm a vulnerable, fragile, child inside.... that I have feelings other than anger.

Even with Tommy right next to me, I've never felt so alone in my life.

The wounds I'm carrying are just getting bigger, and more raw.

I don't know how long it'll be before they burst at the seams.

Nona.... I'm out of my head without you...


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He will deny it all he wants, but I know that I witnessed him having a nightmare. Whatever it was that he was dreaming about didn't sound okay, and I was a little scared hearing the panic in his voice. He never opens up to me about his childhood, but from what I can see, I think it was more fucked up than I thought.

Tommy's P.O.V.

1987:

Something's up with Nikki.

Okay, I don't mean his drug use and impulsive behavior. I'm talking about something different. Something deeper.

Nikki's grandmother died last week, and ever since then he's been acting weird.

I was at his house when he got the call. He woke up completely hungover... We both did. We had a crazy night a few hours before. I had originally came to take him to this sick party that was going on, because I wanted to get his ass out of his house, since he never leaves it. He wasn't having it, and I was already a little drunk, so I just stayed there with him, and we ended up having a blast anyway. We got so fucking wasted and high on coke. Nikki couldn't even walk. I was so giggly, and I think I might have knocked over one of his dressers. 

All I know is that it was a great fucking night... until the morning. 

I woke up because Nikki's phone was ringing and he wouldn't pick it up. We were both hungover as fuck, and wanted nothing to do with anything, but I eventually got him to answer it. The next thing I know, he's puking his guts out in his bathroom. I asked if he was okay and he said it was just withdrawals... I knew that wasn't the real reason.

It turns out I was right.

He came into a recording session the other day with a song that he wrote, called 'Nona.' I automatically recognized that as what he called his grandma.

At that point, we all knew what had happened. From what I know, Nikki was very close with his grandma, and he must have been completely devastated. We automatically sent our condolences, but he didn't seem phased by it at all, which was odd. It's almost like he just brushed the news away, and went right back to what he was doing. He taught the song to us, and we learned it pretty fast, and got it recorded for the album.

After recording, I noticed Nikki had disappeared to the bathroom. We all knew what he was doing in there. However, it turns out he wasn't only shooting up. 

"Yo, Sixx. Can I talk to you?"

As soon as I opened the door, I walked into Nikki sitting in the corner of the room, doped out, but also holding a half empty bottle of Jack. He was already drunk. I was shocked.

"Nikki..."

I went over to him, and ripped the bottle out of his hand.

"What happened to us not drinking in the studio? You have all the time in the world to do that!"

I'm never one to enforce rules like that, but I was already worried sick about Nikki that I felt I needed to.

He didn't seem to care. He closed his eyes and grinned.

"Yeahhh... It's alright man... We're done recording now.... it's fine."

I just looked at him. 

"You're really not fine, dude. Look at you."

He just stared at me. That's when he realized that I took the bottle from him, and he reached his arm out to me, but I snatched it away.

"No more. You've had enough Nik... Come on..."

He wouldn't budge and just whined like a cranky kid.

"T-Boneeee.... "

I started to grab him to lift him up, when he flinched and pulled away.

"Dude, what's up with you? Come on!"

I grabbed him again, and this time he started pulling the opposite way. I was so confused. Even in his fucked up state, he was still so strong.

"Nikki?!"

We were basically playing tug of war with each other, until I felt Nikki suddenly loosen his grip.

He ended up falling onto me, and I could have sworn I felt him shaking. I lifted his head up, and he was out cold.

What the fuck just happened?

I sighed.

"Ok dude, if I need to carry you to get you out of here, that's what I'm gonna do."

I ended up driving him back to his place, and crashed there because I was too scared to leave him alone.

When I got to his room, I plopped him down on his bed, and wrapped him in blankets because he was freezing. That probably explained the shivering.

I took in my surroundings. His room looked even worse than it usually did. There was hardly any empty space on his floor now. His dresser was still toppled over from that crazy night, all of his dirty clothes were still scattered everywhere, and there were still burn marks in the carpet. What really caught my eye was all of the shattered glass that was spread around, and as I tried to track down where it came from, I noticed multiple frames. One of those frames had held our "Shout at the Devil" record that went platinum. 

I felt chills run up and down my body.

Did he have a fucking rage attack?

I pondered for a while until I realized that I was hungry, and Nikki always let me raid his fridge for food.

I went downstairs, and was shocked to see how empty the thing was. All that was in there was Jack, water, and a few apples that looked like worms would be living in there. 

I guess that's what happens when you spend all of your money on drugs. 

I opened his cabinet and found Doritos and candy. At least there was something.

I went back to his room with a bottle of Jack, and some Doritos, and planted my ass on his carpet. 

It wasn't long after that, when I heard Nikki mumbling from the bed. I never heard him talk in his sleep before. I smirked, and went up to rub his hair.

After about an hour, I finished up the Jack and ended up falling asleep.

* * *

"No.... why... fuck...stop... "

I heard faint mumbling in the distance, and I couldn't tell if it was a dream or not. It kept getting louder, and that's when I had woken up to Nikki talking in his sleep. It was still pitch black out. I looked at the clock. It was 4 in the morning.

Was he talking in his sleep the whole night?

I dragged myself over to him and shook him a little.

"Nik..."

"Fuck off.... stop...."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he would curse in his sleep.

"Dude.... You even flip people off in your sleep."

"Stop... fuck your bullshit..."

I was getting really confused.

"Nikki?"

I gently tapped him, but this time he flinched.

"Why...... stop hurting me.... FUCK."

Shit. I was starting to get nervous. 

"Sixx.... wake up."

He started to curl into himself, and mumbled ever faster, this time sounding scared.

"don't do this.... why would you do this... I can't believe you...."

I shook him again, harder.

"Don't leave me.... too.... please...."

"NIKKI."

Then he stopped. It was quiet for a few seconds until he screamed.

"DON'T GO!"

I didn't know what to do, so I just yelled his name again, hoping he would wake up.

"SIXX."

At that, Nikki jumped up, eyes wide, hair sticking up. 

"...the fuck?"

He sounded so confused, blinked a few times and locked eyes with me.

I put my arms out to him, hoping I wouldn't scare him.

"Hey.... are you okay?"

He looked at me like I had 3 heads, and completely ignored the question.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"You don't remember anything from yesterday, do you?"

Nikki smirked.

"Nah."

I let out a light laugh.

"I figured....." I looked at him again, with worry in my eyes.

"You okay?"

Nikki looked at me and furrowed his brows, and looked around the room.

"Yeah, why are you asking?"

I paused. I was prepared for his defense.

"You were talking a lot in your sleep, man. Woke me up. Just wanted to make sure you were alright."

Nikki avoided eye contact with me.

"Oh..." He let out an awkward laugh. "Not the first time that's happened. I guess even in my sleep I don't shut up."

I looked around his room nervously. This was not an easy topic to bring up.

"Yeah... and you curse in your sleep too."

There was silence for a few seconds, until Nikki let out a yawn, and spoke again, quietly.

"I'm tired."

He curled himself back up, under the blankets. I leaned close to him and whispered.

"You sure you're okay?"

Nikki turned toward me, and then answered, in a quiet voice.

"Yeah. Will you stop asking me that?"

With that, he shoved his face into his pillow. I knew he wasn't gonna talk any-more.

I sighed, and bit my lip.

"Okay."

That was the end of the conversation.

As I drifted back into sleep, I could have sworn I heard footsteps going into the bathroom, and a sniffle.

Then it was quiet.

* * *

It's been a week since that incident, and I haven't heard from Nikki once. He hasn't been showing up to the studio at all. I guess he figures that since we're done recording, there's no need to be there, but I still find it odd. He hasn't been answering my calls, and I doubt he's left his house.

If we're gonna end up touring in a few months, he's gonna have to get himself together.

It's not only him, even though he does have the reputation of being the most destructive out of all of us. Vince and Mick are drinking themselves into a river, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't fucked up myself.

We can't get through one band meeting without arguing with each other, and throwing some kind of hissy fit. Doc is completely fed up with us. I'm completely fed up with us.

I don't know how we'll all manage, but hopefully we can help each other out. I just want to be able to help Nikki through whatever is going on.

He will deny it all he wants, but I know that I witnessed him having a nightmare. Whatever it was that he was dreaming about didn't sound okay, and I was a little scared hearing the panic in his voice. He never opens up to me about his childhood, but from what I can see, I think it was more fucked up than I thought.

I wonder if he's had these nightmares before. Like I said, I've never heard him talk in his sleep before until that night, and I've crashed with him tons of times. Something had to have triggered them. I wonder if his Nona dying has something to do with it.

I wish I could find an easy way to get it out of him, but I know Nikki is like a brick wall with chains wrapped around it. No one can get in. 

I don't know how much longer he's gonna let these demons eat at him. They're gonna escape somehow, and from the looks of it, it's not gonna be pretty.

In fact, I think they're starting to sneak out in pretty disturbing ways. The anger outburst, the shattered glass, the nightmares.... It all makes sense.

Someone better save our souls fast, before this whole band falls apart.

I don't know what will happen first: 

We kill each other or we kill ourselves.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can say all I want that I'm doing fine the way I am, but there's no way in hell that I'm gonna be able get through a whole tour if I stay the way I am. There's no say I'm gonna be able to survive the road if I'm this fucked up, and I know it. I have to get my shit together. But honestly, I don't know how I'm gonna fucking do that.

Nikki's P.O.V:

March 1987:

My life is a mess.

My life has been a mess since I came out of the womb, but lately I'm really feeling myself becoming trapped in a self-destructive cycle of depression, addiction, and self-loathing. 

I think I've reached a new level of insanity.

For some reason, I've been mixing Coke with my smack a lot. I'm smart enough to know what it does to my mind, but I do it any-way. I've found myself hiding away in my closet again, with my gun, pleading with non-existent intruders to leave my house and leave me alone. Then, I come down from the drugs, and I realize that I'm actually crazy, and that none of that shit even happened.

More and more memories are re-surfacing from my childhood. People leaving me, and never returning.... All the times I've been hurt, physically and emotionally... They've been haunting me in my sleep almost every night, ever since Nona died. It's like my brain is trying to remind me that I'll always be alone, as if I didn't already come to that conclusion myself.

Real nice.

I've been holding an intense amount of shame in my soul ever since I got that call. I ignored when my grandpa had told me that she was sick a year ago, because my mind was focused on other things, like smack. I never called him or spoke to him until the day he called me to tell me the news.

I was too fucked up to even make it to her funeral. I couldn't even walk that morning. I was so doped out and incoherent that I wouldn't be able to make it on an airplane, let alone make myself look presentable. If I ended up going, I would have to face my "family" and have everything resurface.... and things would have gone to shit.

As if they haven't already.

.... It wouldn't have mattered though, since my subconscious apparently has a mind of its own. 

Every time I wake up from one of those fucking dreams, I end up escaping to the bathroom to shoot up, just to try to numb it out, and push the memories away. 

Tommy actually caught me in the middle of one, and had to wake me up. I was humiliated, and denied everything like I usual do. He didn't seem to buy any of it, but by now lying has become a natural instinct of mine. It's actually compulsive. Even if I wanted to stop, I wouldn't be able to.

I haven't even spoken to T-Bone in like weeks, or anyone for that matter. I've hardly done anything. At this point, my life is just the same cycle repeating day after day, over and over again.

3:00 - 4:00am: Have a nightmare  
5:00am: Wake up  
5:15am: Shoot up  
5:30am: Pass out  
12:00pm: Wake up again  
12:15pm: Shoot up again  
12:30pm: Snort some coke  
1:00pm: End up in my closet with my gun  
2:00pm: Hallucinate  
5:00pm: Journal about experience  
6:00pm: Drink Jack  
7:00pm: Ruminate over why my life is so fucked up, why my family hates me, and why I'm the way I am  
12:00am: Shoot up again  
1:00am: Pass out

And it repeats itself....  
Over  
And  
Over  
And  
Over 

I bet everyone is fed up with me, since I don't bother to go to the studio anymore. Actually, scratch that. They are fed up with me. They've been fed up with me from the start of this record, I can tell. I think we're all fed up with each other. Doc actually had the nerve to show up at my house the other night. He started banging on my front door, and it was so obnoxious and loud that I was able to hear it from my room. I was plopped down on my bed, with my head face down in the sheet. I didn't move to let him in.

Then, since I didn't answer him, he started yelling at me to open the goddamn door and let him in. He said he wasn't playing games.

All I did was scream from my room.

"FUCK OFF!"

I didn't even move from my bed. I just pressed my face in harder, and used my pillow to try to shield the noise.

"STOP FOOLING AROUND AND LET ME IN THE GODDAMN HOUSE."

Silence.

He was gonna kill me, but what did I have to lose at this point.

"NIKKI."

I finally snapped my head up, punched my bed, and groaned.

"FUCK. FINE!"

I eventually got fed up, and stomped my way downstairs to let him in, which I wish I hadn't have, because all he did was give me shit for not showing up at the studio. What a shock. I had NO idea that's what he was gonna babble on about.

He didn't even say hi before he started screaming at me.

"What the FUCK are you thinking?! NOT SHOWING UP TO THE STUDIO!"

I just looked at him.

"You better get your ASS IN GEAR SIXX. WE'RE ALL COUNTING ON YOU AND YOU'RE NOT DOING SHIT!"

Yup. There I am again, not doing "shit." I really think he forgets that if I wasn't in the band we wouldn't have any fucking songs. I'm fucked up but I can still write, and I do. And what about all the other members? Does he forget about them too? The world really must be revolved around me if that's all he can think about.

I just let him yell at me. I don't even think I said anything because I thought the whole situation was ridiculous. I couldn't help but smirk, like the wise-ass I am. The guy makes a big deal out of everything. I couldn't take him seriously. I mean, I don't see what the problem is. If we're done recording, why is it so fucking important that I show up? I bet if I did drag my ass there, I would just be walking into disaster. Since no one gets along anymore, I would have just shown up to yelling.

Eventually, he realized that I wasn't gonna answer him, so he stomped out of my house with his head in his hands. He looked like a fucking lunatic. I rolled my eyes and went back upstairs, and even up there I could hear him swearing as he walked to his car.

I shot up, passed out, and there went the rest of that day.

I know I come off as a real big asshole 90% of the time, and that is true. However, I sometimes forget that people don't look under my hundreds of layers which reveal my core beliefs and deeper emotions that I do carry. I have a ton of baggage, and it gets uncomfortable dragging it around all the time.

I never want anything to do with anyone because I'm depressed, but there's a huge part of me that feels guilty for the way I've treated the people closest to me, especially Tommy. I know all the guy wants to do is help, and I can tell he's hurting inside because he can't, and nothing he does seems to make an impact on me, but that's not his fault. It's mine. I just take everything too far, and end up screwing myself up. 

Instead of accepting the help, I push him away, which not only hurts him, but it also hurts me. I'm great at self-sabotage. If there was a class on self-destruction, I would definitely get an A+, because I'm just so good at destroying myself and the people around me.

A lot of the shit that I ruminate on when I'm alone is about why I do what I do. Why do I love destruction? Why do I love pain? Why do I continue doing the same shit over and over again, and expecting different results, when all it does is dig me deeper into my black hole? Maybe I'm truly meant to be this way. Maybe I'm just meant to be lonely and longing all the time, because that's what I am.

Lonely.

Despite how much I lock myself away from others, I don't like being alone. The thing is, I push people away because I don't want to be hurt, and I don't want to hurt them by making them see me like this: a mess. But, when I isolate, I actually feel a lot worse about myself than I would if I was around others. It just reminds me of how much I've thrown away from being the way I am, and how much I actually miss being around people... especially T-Bone. I miss him. I miss the stupid shit we used to do, and our crazy fucking nights together. Meanwhile, I don't pick up the phone when he calls me, because nothing can overpower the amount of self-loathing I store deep in my soul. When he sees me, he hurts, and when he hurts, I hurt, because I know he's hurting because of me.

It's my fault that he feels so scared, and helpless.

So, instead of letting myself face the reality, I push him away, and end up feeling worse. 

Why do I fucking do this shit?

I guess I've realized that just like everything else, depression is a cycle too, and it takes a lot of endurance and drive to be able to break out of it. 

When defense mechanisms and habits have been practiced for a long time, you gotta retrain your brain to do new things.

Good luck to anyone who wants to look inside mine.

Maybe someone could go and flip a switch that brings out a rational part of me. You know, the part that would actually listen when people tell me I'm gonna die if I don't stop.

All I do is ignore it. Everyone can keep on telling me until they're blue in the face that I gotta stop the shit I'm doing, but none of it phases me.

Except, now that I know that we're gonna start touring in 2 months, it's hitting me just a little bit harder.

I can say all I want that I'm doing fine the way I am, but there's no way in hell that I'm gonna be able get through a whole tour if I stay the way I am. There's no say I'm gonna be able to survive the road if I'm this fucked up, and I know it.

I have to get my shit together. 

But honestly, I don't know how I'm gonna fucking do that.

Withdrawals are hell. I know that because I've tried to stop before. I shit my fucking bed, my clothes were always soaked with all the sweat that poured out of me, and I got sick so much that I'm still shocked that my stomach and intestines didn't burst. It was so horrible, which is the exact reason I only lasted about 3 days before I went right back to snack. You can ask Tommy about his wedding, and he will tell you that everything was a shit show, because of me.

It's gonna be fucking hell, but I can't do smack on tour. I just can't. I'm gonna have to go fight through the withdrawals and find another way to deal with everything.

That's what alcohol, coke, and pills are for, right?

It's better than junk. At this point, I think anything is better than what I'm doing right now. Hopefully, I can deal with the withdrawals before we hit the road, so I can start to get myself together and prepare to expose myself to the world. Im gonna actually have to be human, and I'm not used to it.

I think I'll be able to do it though. I got Tommy. He'll help me. 

Except, what if I still have those fucking nightmares? What if Tommy or someone else notices? I'm not gonna have my snack to escape them, and I'm gonna have to come out with more excuses so they'll back off. Seriously, how humiliating would if be if Vince of all people heard me screaming in my sleep? 

I guess I'll have to just drink it all away. Like I said, it's better than junk.

I'm trying to think back to the other tours we did. There were some good times on them. The band wasn't always this fucked up. Things weren't always bad. 

I have to remember that true high I get when I'm performing in front of crowds. Getting my emotions out through my music gives leaves me with a feeling that is so indescribable, but it is one of those times where I truly feel at peace. It's a passion. My songwriting is my storytelling, and the music itself is my lifeline. When I really dig deep, I truly don't know what I would do without it.

And plus, the whole band will be performing every night, so we'll be forced to interact with each other. Maybe some of our sanity will be restored and we'll actually learn to get along with each other again. Me and Tommy can build ourselves back up, and hey, maybe we'll just go back to doing all that crazy shit that we used to. 

And, if I need it, I will have my space. If I need to recharge, or ruminate, or tear myself into pieces like the sick fuck that I am.... I'll be able to.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but it might actually be fun. 

I think I'll actually call Tommy and ask him to come over, so I can tell him my plan.

He might not believe me, but it's worth the shot.

Maybe I won't regret trying to get off this shit.

Maybe I can get myself together.

Maybe I'll actually be okay.

Maybe.... maybe.... maybe....

But before I do anything, I gotta give myself one last shot, just as a goodbye, and a reward for actually deciding to try something different.

One last time.

And now, as I prick my vein, and feel the rush of contentment travel through me, all I can think to myself is how good it feels, and how it's gonna have to end.

I don't know if I can do this.

I'll ask myself again:

Why do I fucking do this shit?


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just looked at him. I couldn't get myself to say anything because this was real. This was Nikki actually asking me to throw out his rigs for him. This is Nikki admitting that he can't trust himself to do it himself. Fuck. This is Nikki actually committing to trying to change.

Tommy's P.O.V.

Late March 1987:

Nikki called me today. 

I thought I was fucking hallucinating. I had to blink a few times to be able to snap myself into reality, because Nikki never calls. It's the other way around, and I hadn't heard from him in weeks. It was just so unexpected. 

When my phone rang, I never would have assumed that it was gonna be him, and when I answered and heard his voice, I was shocked.

"Sixx?! Dude, you're alive!"

I was fucking excited, honestly. I was starting to lose hope because he never answered my calls or showed up at the studio, so I had decided that I was gonna take a break to see if he would come around himself.

I guess it worked.

He didn't sound completely terrible either. He was actually forming coherent sentences and seemed like he genuinely wanted to talk to me.

"Of course I'm alive, T-Bone. I'm Nikki Fucking Sixx."

And as always, he still had that sarcastic tone in his voice. I bet he was smirking as he said that.

I didn't get a chance to answer him before he spoke up again. 

"Dude, come over. I gotta talk to you about something. You're not gonna believe it, but I'm being real this time."

I was so confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm gonna try and get clean for the tour in 2 months."

I completely froze.

Did I just hear what I thought I heard?

"You're serious?"

"If I wasn't serious I wouldn't have called you to tell you. Don't you know me T-bone?"

He sounded pretty serious. He also sounded uncharacteristically.... motivated.

I narrowed my eyes.

"What made you come to this conclusion all of a sudden?"

There was a long pause. Then he spoke again.

"I decided I'm not gonna be able to tour while I'm this fucked up. So I'm gonna get clean for it."

I still couldn't wrap my head around the idea that Nikki of all people just admitted to me that he's too fucked up. It's almost as if it's too good to be true, but I really hope with all of my heart and soul that he's being serious.

"You sure you're not fuckin around with me? This is a big deal. I hope you mean it, man."

I could hear him groan in the background through the phone.

"Just get your fucking ass over here so I can show you how serious I am."

And that's how I ended up at his house, drunk out of my mind, laughing about stupid shit.

But before any of that happened, we actually had a serious talk. 

I let myself in with the keys he let me keep, and when I got to his room, I was able to tell right away that he had just shot up. It was all in his eyes, but he wasn't completely doped out to the point where he couldn't hold a conversation. He must have snorted a little Coke afterwards.

I tried to hold in my sigh, but I couldn't. 

"So.... when's this 'I'm gonna get clean for the tour' thing starting?"

If I came off as an asshole, it's because I was a little frustrated. I mean, wouldn't you be if you walked into that after getting a call from that same person saying they were completely serious about changing?

But then again, it is Nikki we're talking about.

"Dude.... I had to give myself one last hit. You know, as a reward for deciding something so big."

He grinned at me, and all I wanted to do was smack him in the face, but I didn't. I just rolled my eyes.

"So this is it? This is the last time? It better be the last time, man."

"Oh, trust me. It is." 

He walked over to his bathroom, and came out holding a plastic bag.

"What's in there?"

He held it open in front of my face, so I could see. It was filled with dirty syringes, elastics, and tin foil. I just looked at him, slightly confused.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"I used the last bit of dope I had, so I'm gonna give you this to throw out for me. I can't trust myself to do it myself....". 

He looked around his room nervously, as if he was rethinking what he just said. 

"Starting right now, I'm stopping cold turkey."

Then, he handed it to me, and took a breath.

"Or... once this last dose wears off."

I just looked at him. I couldn't get myself to say anything because this was real. This was Nikki actually asking me to throw out his rigs for him. This is Nikki admitting that he can't trust himself to do it himself. 

Fuck.

This is Nikki actually committing to trying to change.

"Are you sure that's the last of it? You don't have any-more of it hidden in the house?"

He bit his lip.

"I swear, T-Bone."

I took in his appearance, and body language. Even though he was high, I could tell he was anxious. He was playing with his hands, and was pretty fidgety. If I looked close enough, I could notice a little tremble in his lip. Honestly, whether he admits it or not, he's scared shitless.

"Sixx, I'm fucking proud of you."

I couldn't finish before I got a defensive answer back. 

"Woah woah, no need to be sappy yet. We still got a few hours until the hell starts."

Leave it to Nikki to ruin the moment.

"You sayin hell hasn't started yet?"

"You know what I mean T-Bone..."

If anyone knew, it was me. He did not handle withdrawals very well the last time he tried to quit smack.

"I know, man. I'm sorry."

Nikki didn't even seem offended. He just laughed. Then he just stared at me intensely. 

"What?"

He smirked.

"Don't you wanna get wasted?"

* * *

Bottles of Jack Daniels covered Nikki's carpet, as usual, except this time me and him were both drunk out of our minds. We were still able to hold a conversation, though. Usually, that isn't the case. 

"You know that you're gonna actually have to come to the studio now that we're gonna be touring soon...."

I figured I would let him know.

"Shut up."

He stuck his tongue out at me like a kid. I loved seeing the funny side of Nikki. He's so innocent and care free when he's drunk.

"T-Bone....."

Nikki reached his hand over to me, grinning suspiciously.

I narrowed my eyes, and smirked.

"What......"

He whispered.

"C'mere."

I crawled over to him and sat like a good dog waiting for a bone. Then Nikki poked me in the nose. 

I just looked at him.

Then we both started cackling.

"You're so funny man.... I don't know what I would do without you...."

Nikki was slurring out of his mind, as he took a huge gulp of one of the Jack bottles. He tried to stand up, but almost toppled over, so I let him hold onto me. I was still laughing from the stupid nose poke. 

Man, don't you love when you think everything is fucking hysterical when you're wasted?

Cause I do.

I also love how sappy I get. 

"No way dude.... you're the one I couldn't live without..."

"Awwww T-Bone...."

Nikki clung onto me like a little kid who missed his mom. I rubbed his head and just smiled. Then I stared at him and smirked.

"Sixx.... we're fucking ridiculous."

He stared back, trying to hold in his laugh.

"I know....."

We started cackling, again, so loud that I'm shocked his house didn't start shaking.

We kept trying to look away from each other so we would stop laughing but we couldn't. I mean, wouldn't you laugh if you saw two drunk guys in their late 20's clinging onto each other like koalas?

Once we finally were able contain ourselves, Nikki let go of me so he could lay down on the carpet. He just plopped himself down for a few minutes, not saying anything. Then, he took a deep breath in and looked at me.

"T-Bone....," He said in a small, raspy voice, and then paused, staring at me.

I looked up at him.

"Yeah?"

He kept looking at me, but didn't answer. Then, after about a minute he spoke again, and it brought chills up and down my whole body.

"I'm fucking scared."

I reached my arm out to him, and sighed.

"I know..... but you got me, man. You'll get it together."

I shut my eyes.

I'll try to help him the best I can, but I know one thing.

It's gonna be one hell of a ride.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I'm gonna be able to get though these withdrawals if it's only been a few hours and I already feel like I'm dying. I know the first few days are the worst, but that's exactly why I couldn't last them and ended up shooting up right away. It's too goddamn painful that all I want to do is sleep it off, but how can I even do that when my mind is racing and I'm still sweating bullets? How gross is that? I just fucking took a bath and I already started sweating again?! It's ironic that as I'm trying to get "clean", I'm literally getting dirtier.

Nikki's P.O.V. 

{Day 1 of no Junk}

I've officially entered Hell.

I just woke up on the carpet next to Tommy. He's sprawled out like a cat doing a full body stretch in yoga or something. We drank so much last night, and I hardly remember what went down..... except..... 

I shut my eyes for a few seconds to try to ease the pounding headache that's burning my temples. I just remembered that I gave him the bag with all of my rigs in it. I'm already feeling sick as it is from the hangover, but now I'm getting antsy and anxious because I don't have the snack. 

I decided myself that I would try to stop. That was my decision, and if I'm following through with it, I'm gonna have to deal with this.

It's only been 5 minutes and I'm already rethinking giving Tommy all of my shit.

I don't want to move. I feel so sick. But if I don't move I'll end up throwing up all over the carpet, and on T-Bone, and what kind of friend barfs on you to show their kindness? I'm gonna have to drag myself up. 

Every time I try to move in any way, I feel like I might just barf on the spot. I'm trying to hold my breath. This is horrible.

I'm starting to talk to myself in my head. I'm a fucking lunatic.

Someone please pray that I can make it 2 feet to where my bathroom is. I don't even care if I can't make it to the tub. Just don't let me get sick on Tommy, please.

Okay. I'm up. I got myself up. I'm gripping the rail on my bed, and clutching my stomach. Everything hurts. 

Fuck.

I couldn't fucking hold it. I just got sick on my bathroom floor. It's splattering everywhere. Tommy's gonna flip if he wakes up and hears me barfing my guts out. What a great way to wake up. He's a heavy sleeper though, especially when he's hungover. 

I still question how my intestines and stomach are still intact after all the times I've gotten sick trying to get off junk. I'm still clutching my abdomen. I feel like I've been stabbed in my gut and everything's pouring out of it. I know, what a nice visual. It's not that far from the truth though. 

I can stop being a sadistic, sarcastic ass, I know.

I squeeze my eyes shut, because the pain is so bad right now and I don't want to scream because I might wake Tommy up that way too. It's not just my stomach and my head. My whole body feels like it's about to shatter. I'm aching everywhere. Everything is sore, as if I just ran a fucking marathon. My heart is pounding out of my chest, and it feels like it's palpitating.

I don't even bother to try to drag myself up from the floor. I'm just gonna stay here until I magically replenish my energy and my muscles decide to work again. I'm basically laying in my own barf, and that's fucking disgusting but I don't have the strength to try to move. Whenever I try to lift my head, it feels like the weight of a bowling ball. I'm also scared I'll get sick again if I try to move any more.

Oh shit. I'm starting to sweat real hard. Sweat and barf don't mix well. The stench is enough to get me nauseous again. I'm trying to hold my breath and I'm squeezing my eyes shut. I just want this to be over.

Another stabbing pain just ran through my lower abdomen. I'm really trying to keep it together, but honestly, I am so close to crying right now, and everyone knows that Nikki Sixx isn't a fucking baby.

Well, right now, I'm a fucking baby. And I'm so close to just screaming right now.

Oh fuck.

My whole body is tensing up, because, I feel like I'm about to shit myself. I'm gonna have to fucking move or else I'll shit all over the floor. Barf splattered around the bathroom is bad enough. I gotta get myself together.

I'm trying to take deep breaths, as I grab onto the edge of my bathtub. I'm gripping on it for dear life because you have no idea how much strength it is taking to hold myself up. 

I almost don't make it to the toilet before what feels like gallons of toxic waste shoot out of me.

All I can think is this moment is that I really hope Tommy isn't hearing this right now.

At this point I'm just letting the tears fall from my eyes, and they burn because it's mixed with the sweat that's dripping down my face. My bangs are completely drenched and stuck to my face, and I'm as white as a board. Actually, I fucking look grey.

It's bad enough that I basically vomited my whole electrolyte supply out of me, but now I must have completely dehydrated myself of everything essential my body was holding onto.

Honestly, how am I even able to sweat and cry? How the hell is there still fluid left in me after all of that?

I've been curled up on the toilet for at least 10 minutes now, just moaning and breathing hard because I really can't get myself to move now. After what just happened, I have no ounce of energy left in me. I don't know how long it's gonna take until I actually pass out from exhaustion now.

Before I can even form another thought, I feel another wave of nausea.

Holy fucking shit.

I forgot how bad this was gonna be.

Bad isn't the fucking word.

This is goddamn HELL.

I couldn't turn my body around to aim for the toilet and ended up projectile vomiting on the floor again.

I'm fucking desperate right now. I would actually do anything to make this stop, but NO. You fucking decided to give Tommy all of your goddamn rigs so you can't shoot up. Nope. You're gonna have to fucking deal now. 

I'm not holding in my pain any-more. There's no way.

"FUCKING HELL....."

I'm whining, but anyone in this situation would. I would never wish this upon anyone, even if I hate them, and trust me, I hate a lot of people. But no one should have to go through this shit. I would rather be fucking dead.

I hear footsteps approaching, and I know it's T-Bone. I still can't move though. He's gonna have to walk into this mess, but if I had the strength to get up, I would. I really would.

I'm just completely drained. 

All I want to do is sleep this off. I'm so fucking sick that I don't think I can function if I'm awake.

"Dudeee.... Holy shit man. You're a fucking mess."

I look up and there's T-Bone. His mouth is open and his eyes are wide. 

I can't even answer. I just let out another cranky groan and give him the finger.

He looked so concerned, but he also looked like shit himself. That doesn't stop him from wanting to help me, anyway. 

"I'm gonna help you up, okay? Do you wanna soak in the bathtub or something?"

I just look at him, and nod. I'm so humiliated. I probably look so fragile and pathetic.

Tommy's hand is reaching towards me, and I just let him drag me up, since I have no strength to do it myself. I'm shocked he can lift me up so easily, but I guess that's what happens when smack eats at you. Plus, I probably lost all of my body's fluid weight. Despite the pain I'm in, I somehow am able to get myself to talk. 

"This is fucking embarrassing.... You don't have to do this..."

Fuck, my voice is so raspy, and my throat burns so bad.

"I told you I would be here to help you when you needed it. Now just accept that you're too goddamn sick to get your ass off the ground, and let me do it for you."

Jesus, he doesn't let up. I just whine some more.

"Why did I want to fucking do this....."

I'm probably so goddamn annoying but I'm really regretting my decision, and it's only been a half hour since I woke up.

"It's gonna suck, dude, but you knew it was coming...."

He didn't say that in a mean way. I could feel the empathy in his voice. I know he's just being real, and I know he knows how horrible it is for me. 

"I forgot how much it sucked."

When I get in the tub, I let Tommy fill the space up with steaming hot water, and close the shower curtain. I'm still in my clothes, even though Tommy left the room. I don't feel like changing. 

The warm water seems feels somewhat soothing. I try to let myself relax, but it's hard to do that when your whole body is still screaming in pain. It actually feels like I have flames running through every muscle fiber. 

I hear Tommy call from my room.

"Just chill out in there for a while dude. It'll loosen you up, and then you'll be able to move and clean yourself up..... And don't worry about the shit on the floor. I'll get that."

I groaned.

"Tommy.... you don't hav----"

"Just shut up and accept the help, Sixx."

That was the end of the discussion.

I can't help but feel guilty for putting Tommy through this. He shouldn't have to clean up my mess and witness me like this. He should be living his own goddamn life, not looking after me like I'm his child or something. 

After about 20 minutes, I'm actually able to move around a bit, and do a quick wash.

I see a shadow through the curtain and realize that T-Bone came back and he's cleaning up the barf on the floor. I just cringe. It makes me hate myself even more. All I want to do is drag him away, but he wouldn't budge even if I tried.

"You okay in there, dude?"

I snap out of my thoughts, and nod quickly.

"Yeah. Can you bring me a T-Shirt and a pair of comfortable pants to change into?"

I really hate asking for things, but I don't really have another choice when it comes to the clothes, unless I want to stay in ones I was wearing.

He didn't even answer me, and he was back in a flash, with the clothes.

"They'll be on the toilet seat."

"Thanks man...."

I decide to just sit in the tub longer, because I don't know if I'm ready to get out and have to face how painful it is to walk.

But I'm gonna have to do it eventually, so I grip the edge of the tub and lift myself up as gently as I can. I'm still stiff but not as much as earlier, and I'm actually able to bend over to put my clothes on. It feels good to be in clean clothes, but that still doesn't take the pain that I'm feeling away.

I don't know how I'm gonna be able to get though these withdrawals if it's only been a few hours and I already feel like I'm dying. 

I know the first few days are the worst, but that's exactly why I couldn't last them and ended up shooting up right away. It's too goddamn painful that all I want to do is sleep it off, but how can I even do that when my mind is racing and I'm still sweating bullets?

How gross is that?

I just fucking took a bath and I already started sweating again?!

It's ironic that as I'm trying to get "clean", I'm literally getting dirtier.

Okay, I thought that was funny. If I said that in a rehearsal, I would have gotten my ass kicked.

Some people just don't understand how sarcasm and humor are great defense mechanisms...

Anyway... I feel horrible.

All I could do right now is take a breath and get myself back to my room so I can just try and relax.

I use all the energy I got to climb on my bed and plop down on it. Tommy sees me and lays down next to me.

"There you are...."

He runs his hand through my wet hair, and I can't get myself to move because I feel so done and too goddamn tired.

"You feeling a little better?"

I'm not gonna lie to him and say I'm great. He would see through that anyway. 

"Not really... I feel like shit."

"You want me to get you anything?"

God, he cares so much. I think he cares TOO much. I want to cringe because of how humiliating it is to let anyone see me like this.

"I just wanna sleep... Want this to be over...."

I can't even form complete sentences because the anxiety I'm feeling and the pounding headache that I had earlier are still strong. 

"You gotta push through it, man."

I squeeze my eyes shut to try to numb the pain, when I realized I actually did need something.

"Hey..... "

T-Bone looked at me with concern.

"Yeah?"

"Can you bring me the bottle of painkillers I got in the bathroom?"

I don't know how I could have forgotten about those. They'll help with the pain and hopefully relax me enough to be able to pass out.

"Please....."

Tommy took a while to answer me. It's like he didn't hear me right or thinks I'm up to something.

"Yeah.... of course."

I'm starting to feel another wave of nausea run through me, and curl myself up in a ball as I choke the words out.

"Thank you."

Tommy comes back with the pill bottle and some water. As he reaches his hand out to me, I try the best I can to swallow a few pills without getting sick. I curl myself back up, and squeeze my eyes shut.

The same thought just runs through my head as I wait for everything to kick in.

How the fuck am I gonna get through this?


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry, man. You don't deserve to have to watch over me like a fucking babysitter..." I can't help but roll my eyes, because this is obviously something I've heard from him many times before. "Sixx, how many times do I have to tell you.... I'm here to help you. I'm your friend, and I WANT to fucking help. Okay? You gotta learn to be okay with other people helping you. You don't need to deal with everything yourself all the time, you know."

Tommy's P.O.V

Late April 1987:

Nikki isn't doing so hot.

The withdrawals are really kicking his ass hard, and it's not like I thought they wouldn't, but it's just hard for me to watch him crumble apart the way he is.

It's funny how sometimes the things that are going to help you the most are actually the most painful to experience. In his case, his addiction became a physical disease, where he was taking the heroin to feel normal, or else he wouldn't be able to function. 

That's exactly what withdrawals do to him. He can't function. He's sick all the time. He is in so much pain that all he wants to do is try to sleep it off so he doesn't have to deal with it, and honestly, I can't blame him. He can hardly even move out of his bed when he actually wants to do something other than lay in it. 

I really wish I could just snap my fingers and fix... take all of his pain away... make it all better... FIX everything that is happening, but I know I can't.

Nikki decided himself that he was going to try to get off smack, and with that decision comes the not-so-fun consequences. He told himself that he knew it would suck, but there's no way he'll survive a full tour the way he was so fucked up.

He knew the hell was coming with these withdrawals, but that doesn't make them any easier to get through, and I empathize with him right now.

It's only his second day, and I know the first three days are the worst, but some parts of me aren't sure how he's gonna get through this, because of how unbearable it is. When he tried to get off the other times, he only lasted three days because of how horrible it was. I could only hope and silently beg him to really try to push through this time, so he could get clean and be in a better headspace for the tour...

It's not that I don't think he could fight through. He definitely can. I think he's been through enough shit in his life that gave him the ability to get through anything. It's his stubbornness and resistant personality that gets in the way. He ends up sabotaging himself without realizing it because he gets so defiant and set in his ways about any decision that he makes that is thrown at him.

Yesterday morning, the guy wouldn't accept my help, despite him being sprawled across his bathroom floor, not being able to move because he had just puked up a storm and basically shit himself. He said he was embarrassed, and I had to tell him to stop being a stubborn ass and let me help him. If I didn't lift him up and get him in the bathtub, only God knows how long he would have stayed there, on the ground, soaking in his own barf.

It's like he could care less about anything that involves his well-being. I mean, when you think about it, that doesn't seem too far off. Look at the way he treats himself when he's on heroin.

He doesn't eat. He doesn't wash himself. He doesn't give a shit about what he looks like, smells like, or acts like. He neglects himself and he neglects the music and his writing. Instead of being the controlling, productive fuck that he is, he ends up laying around all day and night not caring about anything but the drugs.

Even though he's deciding to get off, the early withdrawal is causing him to do the same exact things, except this time he has a valid reason.

After I got him to the bathtub yesterday, he took a few painkillers and ended up passing out in his bed. He was twisting and turning the whole time, and was sweating like a motherfucker. I just sat by him to make sure he was okay. There wasn't much else I could do. That's really all that went on the rest of the day. Nikki trying to sleep off the nausea and pain, and me watching over the poor guy, because I'm honestly a little nervous to leave him alone right now, considering the physical and mental states he's in. He's vulnerable right now. I don't want to take a risk and leave to then find out that something bad happened.

He would ring my neck if he knew my explanation for staying with him. He hates being "treated like a kid" because it makes him think that no one trusts him when he's a grown adult. I totally get it. I do. I would probably go nuts if I thought that nobody trusted me, but I'm not doing what I'm doing to "watch" him. It's only because I care about him and just want to give him support for the hardest first days of withdrawal hell.

I just really want this to work for him this time, and I think that he really does too, so hopefully he'll understand my motives. He knows he's my best friend.

But then again, you really never know when it comes to Nikki...

He's still passed out in his bed right now. I've just been chilling out in his room, laying on his carpet, for the past hour and a half. There's not really much to do, but that's fine with me. I'm pretty content just relaxing here with my bottle of Jack. I'm joking. I'm not actually drinking it right now. I made myself some coffee instead because I gotta wake myself up.

I've been thinking about the upcoming tour. If Sixx can get his shit together, and go through the withdrawals before we start, I think it won't be too bad. Personally, I thought our other tours were fun as fuck. I always had a blast! Yeah, shits not perfect for any of us right now, but I think that it'll get better once we're forced to be together every night. Plus, I had a dream the other night and it gave me a sick idea about my drum set. Get this: imagine, me playing the drums... upside down! I'm not even joking, man. A revolving drum set. I can't wait to tell Nikki about it. He'll flip. But seriously, how fucking awesome would that be?

Wow, I've been so distracted that I didn't realize that Nikki had an alarm set, and it's obnoxiously ringing. I don't even think I know how to shut it off. I'm such a dumb fuck sometimes, but I don't want to wake Nikki up for that. He's already a cranky son of a bitch because of withdrawals, and obviously wants to sleep all of it off, so could you imagine if he found out I woke him up just to get him to shut off his alarm? I would basically be sentencing my own death.

"Fuck..."

What the fuck? I guess it already woke him up... and I didn't even do anything.

I look over at the bed, and there Nikki is, twisting and turning, with the blankets halfway off the bed, and his face scrunched and contorted with pain. Honestly, my heart hurts. He's usually so peaceful and looks so content when he's asleep. That's probably the only time that he truly feels at peace from all of the shit that goes on inside his head, but now with these withdrawals, even that is taken from him.

I know he's awake, because even though his eyes are squeezed shut, I can tell that he's trying to lift himself up to sit. The poor guy looks like he's been through the ringer... I mean, he kind of has.

I was suddenly snapped out of my thoughts by Nikki's whines.

"What the fuckkk..."

He sounds like he's in so much pain, that even opening his mouth to talk takes so much of an effort. That's fucking crazy because Nikki doesn't shut up. He loves to talk.

"T-Bone..."

Oh snap! Why do I get distracted so easily? I end up going off to La- La- Land half of the time. Is that why nobody takes me seriously?

"Fuck man! I'm sorry..."

That's when I realized that Nikki has been trying to get my attention for the past two minutes.

Oh yeah... and the alarm is still going off. I really am an idiot.

I crawl myself over to Nikki's bed. He's sitting up now, and his eyes are half open. Baby steps.

"I'm sorry dude... I don't know how to shut the thing off..."

He didn't seem annoyed, and I was relieved. Nikki is so unpredictable sometimes that I never know who I'm walking into most of the time.

He just motioned his hand over to me and the alarm.

"Just throw it in the ground. It'll shut off."

I just looked at him like he was crazy. He just gave me a confused look back, as if everyone threw their alarm clocks to get them to shut off.

"Seriously dude. Just throw it. Punch it. Kick it. Rip it apart. I don't give a shit."

I honestly should have expected something like that to come out of Nikki's mouth. I don't know why I still get surprised by the shit that he does. I smirk at him.

"You're a sick fuck, you know that?"

He looks up at me and weakly shoots me a devious smile, because he knows I'm right. I sigh.

"Ah, what the hell."

I grab the obnoxious thing and throw it on the ground so hard that I think I might have pulled a muscle in my shoulder or something. To my surprise, Nikki was right. It did shut off. Even though I'm 24 years old, I guess I still learn something new every day.

All of a sudden, Nikki looks at me with a pained expression. Now I'm noticing that he looks so much paler than he did yesterday. I'm automatically concerned.

"You good, dude?"

He can't even answer before he gets sick all over the carpet. It didn't only get on the floor, though. It also splattered on the walls and on his bed. He just moans.

"Jesus Christ..."

He sounds so done. I can't blame him. I wish withdrawals didn't have to be so horrible. He's gone through enough shit. He really doesn't need this on top of everything else. I scooch over to him on his bed, and rub his back. I really don't give a crap if I get his barf on me. Everyone knows that out of everyone in the band, me and Sixx are the dirtiest, and could care less about hygiene.

"Sixx, it's okay. You're gonna get through this."

His eyes are half open, half closed. I can tell he's embarrassed, even though I keep on telling him that he doesn't have to be. It's not like the guy fucking asked for his body to torture him. 

"You would fucking think I would handle this better since I've been through it already...."

He's whining like a kid, but I don't care. He's allowed to. This sucks. It sucks for me to have to watch him feel so miserable, and it sucks for him to have to feel so miserable. The whole situation just sucks.

"I know dude... I know..."

He takes a breath in, carefully, as he spits out the rest of his sentence.

".... but I think this time is the worst."

As I'm rubbing his back, I can feel him shaking harder. Soon, he has his head in his hands, and all I want to do is give him a hug, but that might hurt him more if his body is aching, and it might humiliate him more. I don't know. All I know is that he must be regretting deciding to quit cold turkey, but he better not change his mind about it.

Sure, this is horrible and painful for me to watch, but what's even more painful is for me to be forced to watch him kill himself without being able to do anything about it. It's worse for me to see him not give a crap about what's happening to him when he's junked out of his mind, and it's horrible to watch him lose all of his drive and passion for his true love in life: music.

At least I know that after the torture chamber of withdrawals is over, he'll be able to re-channel his true self, and the music will come back stronger than ever. He will come back stronger. The band will come back stronger. I hope.

"I'm sorry, man. You don't deserve to have to watch over me like a fucking babysitter..."

I can't help but roll my eyes, because this is obviously something I've heard from him many times before.

"Sixx, how many times do I have to tell you.... I'm here to help you. I'm your friend, and I WANT to fucking help. Okay? You gotta learn to be okay with other people helping you. You don't need to deal with everything yourself all the time, you know."

He seems so agitated and groans.

"But I should be able to handle this myself! I'm 28 years old, but I'm treated like a kid all the time."

He runs his hand through his hair, which is falling out in clumps on his bed. What a mixture: barf and dirty, hairspray filled hair. I sigh and look at him in the eyes.

"Dude, withdrawal isn't something that's all peachy to deal with! Most people wouldn't even survive the shit you're dealing with. Give yourself some credit. I know you're embarrassed, but honestly there's nothing to be embarrassed about."

He just looks at me, nods his head, and sighs.

"You'll just never let up, will you?"

I smirk at him.

"Fuck no, and you know it."

Sixx gives me the biggest eye roll I've ever seen him give, and then sticks his tongue out at me.

"You're a piece of fucking work.... Always have been."

I ruffle his hair like a little kid would, and put my arm around him.

"That's what I'm here for, buddy."

We stayed there for a few seconds, silent. I don't know why, but neither one of us said anything, until I heard Nikki take a deep breath in.

"You know... " He looks up, with tired eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you... Thanks for doing all of this crazy shit for me, and sticking with me through it."

I'm such a sappy, emotional fuck that hearing that from Sixx of all people made me feel like I was about to tear up and start crying. I have the privilege of knowing the deeper Nikki Sixx, the part of himself that has emotions and the part of him that he doesn't let people see. I see glimpses of his rawness, and he has feelings, and he has a heart. So many people don't know that about him because he's so good at putting on a strong facade for them.

I see through that shit. I've known him long enough, and had enough conversations with him to know when he's covering up, and when he's being real... and right now, he was being real. That's powerful to me.

"Told you man.... You always got me."

He closed his eyes, and smiled. Then, he groaned.

"Fuck..."

My eyes darted around his room.

"What is it?"

He looked down at his dirty bed sheets.

"My room is covered in barf."

I just laughed.

"Leave the fucking barf. Who the fuck cares!"

He paused, and then laughed too.

"True...." 

I nudged him.

"Plus, dude, if we were still having those contests about who has worst hygiene, you would totally win!"

At that, he started to crack the fuck up and almost toppled over his bed. I had to catch him before he did.

"Jesus, be careful!"

He gave me a sly look, as he contained himself once more. He smiled and closed his eyes.

"Maybe, this won't be as bad as I thought... I think I could get through this."

"You will... and you'll kick ass when you do."

"I already kick ass."

Typical Sixx response. I smirk.

"You'll kick even more ass."

As I smile to myself, I close my eyes, and think.

We can get through this. We're the fucking Terror Twins, and soon enough I'll have my full other half back.

The world better prepare themselves, because before you know it, we're gonna be raising more hell than we ever have before.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what I was waiting for. THIS is the reason why I decided to fight through junk withdrawals. It was pure torture. It was pure HELL, but it was worth it. It was worth it for this. It was worth it for the music. One of the best parts of performing for me is hearing the crowds sing along to lyrics that you put your whole heart and soul into writing. Knowing that people enjoy and connect to your music feels somewhat validating. It's like there's people out there that understand you. Maybe I'm not so alone, after all.

Nikki's P.O.V.

June 1987:

For once, I have some positive news. I know, I know, who would have thought something like this would be coming from such a sadistic fucker like me. 

I survived withdrawal hell.

The past month and a half had to be the definition of a living hell. I really had doubts I would get through it this time. I genuinely thought I was going to die. That's how bad the pain was. I'll give you a quick run down.

The first three days were the worst, as we all know. I hardly remember anything besides getting sick and shitting myself. Poor T-Bone watched over me like a concerned mother, and even though I was humiliated as all fuck, I'm so grateful I had that fucker. He's an idiot sometimes but I love him to death. 

Day four and five had me feeling slightly less physically sick. I wasn't throwing up as much, and I was able to choke some food down. I wouldn't necessarily call it "real" food, but at least there was something in my stomach. I kept popping painkillers and downing alcohol, and T-Bone kept me company.

The next three days, I was slowly feeling more energized. My body wasn't feeling as weak as it had been, and I found myself actually wanting to do things besides lie down in bed. Don't get me wrong; I still felt like shit, but I had a tiny bit of an ability to be a human back... I was able to drag myself out to the "Girls, Girls, Girls" release party, which forced me to attempt to make myself look halfway decent. That felt like it took up all the energy I had, but I get it. I wasn't used to it. I had been isolating myself for so long, that being around so many people felt foreign and almost unfamiliar. It was like an overexposure, but I had my Jack to calm me, and I had T-Bone. 

From there, things just kept looking up, which, as I said before, is strange. I'm so used to always being stuck in such a deep, dark, hole of depression and misery that actually feeling positive things was surreal. I had completely forgotten what it felt like to be lucid. I was strumming my bass more, and my ability to write better songs and have better conversations with people was coming back. My drive and passion for the band and the music was returning. I was remembering what my dreams were. I was becoming myself again. 

As I'm sitting here and pondering all of this shit, it just makes me remember how much of a stubborn asshole I can be when I'm controlled by drugs. When I was forced into rehab last February, after waking up in a dumpster in London because I overdosed and nearly died, I wanted nothing to do with it. There was no part of me that would accept that I had a problem, and I knew better than everyone did. No one would get past me, because don't all addicts know what's best? Obviously, because it landed me screaming at T-Bone for getting me locked in a mental institution.

I can laugh at the memory now, but man, what a shit show that was...

* * *

February 1986:

"I can't believe you would do this to me! I thought you were my friend!"

Tommy is close to tears and looks so painfully desperate, but right now none of that matters.

"I AM your friend! That's why I'm trying to HELP you!"

He's holding me down at this point because I am reckless and won't hesitate to destroy anything in my sight. The betrayal that I am feeling is so strong right now that the need to escape and run is all that is on my mind.

"FUCK YOU! If you cared about me, you wouldn't try to send me somewhere! I'M NOT FUCKING GOING!"

"Sixx... please listen..."

I cut him off, and using all of my strength, escaped his grip. I don't hesitate to run toward the door. Tommy beats me to it, and before I can even blink, he's guarding it.

"You're not going any-where man..."

Yeah, like that's gonna stop me from trying.

"FUCK YOU!"

I grab his wrists and attempt to pull him off, but soon I see security guards approaching me, and I'm realizing in this moment that I am completely trapped.

"Nikki, they're gonna have to fucking restrain you if you don't stop. You have no choice."

"I AM A GROWN MAN! STOP TREATING ME LIKE A KID! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME DO ANYTHING!"

I am so fucked up that I don't even realize that I am being taken away by the two security guards until I am brought into a small room with one window. Tommy is gone.

It's just me and the guards, staring at me dead in the face...

I'm starting to get intimidated and just sneer at both of them.

After about five minutes of them just staring at me, I lose my patience.

"So... how long are you gonna just stare at me?"

I get no answer; no reaction from either of them. They just smirk at me.

I'm getting antsy, and all I want to do is punch one of the douchebags. I bet they're just doing this to piss me off.

"I know you're trying to piss me off. I'm not stupid, you know."

"Nikki."

If looks could kill.

"Shut your goddamn mouth."

That was the end of that discussion.

For the next twenty minutes, I fidget in the cold plastic chair they sat me in. It's fucking freezing in the room, so I hold my knees to my head. I didn't get to bring anything with me, and the clothes that I'm wearing are not warm enough. Who knows if I'll even be allowed to wear real clothes.

"So, Nikki. Do you understand why you are here?"

I snap out of my trance as I realized that one of the guards actually decided to speak to me.

I'm still angry and resentful, and am NOT in the mood to answer any questions, especially from those pompous assholes. So, instead of answering them, I roll my eyes, make a disgusted sneer, and spit at them.

"Fuck you."

"If you're gonna act like a kid, you'll be treated like one."

One of the guards smirked, left the room, and came back with a hospital gown.

I just stared at it, confused. 

Then I started to get nervous, and felt chills run up and down my spine.

"You got five minutes to change into this and hand over your clothes."

No fucking way.

I knew I had this sick feeling for a reason...

"No."

The bastard stared at me with razor sharp eyes.

"What did you just say? No? Well you better listen up, you punk. No doesn't cut it here. You are in this hospital, so you are expected to abide by these rules. So you better get your mind straight and change your fucking attitude, wipe that smirk off of your face, and hand over your clothes."

I'm finding it difficult to take this dude seriously. I can't help but continue to roll my eyes at him. I'm already completely screwed. How much worse could things REALLY get?

* * *

Well, boy, did things get worse. I ended up escaping, literally. A nurse there set me off when she preached to me that I could only quit smack if I gave all my issues over to a higher power. That received a few "Fuck you's!" And "Fuck God's!". The next thing I knew, I found myself walking down Van Nuys boulevard in that nasty hospital gown, because since I'm a pompous self absorbed asshole, I overestimated my ability to make it back to my house. What a sight it must have been for anyone who saw me. They probably had to hide their kids.

It's all a blur to me, but what matters is that I'm clean. I'm actually alive. I'm alive and I'm actually sitting in my dressing room, full of adrenaline, because Motley just killed our first show of the "Girls, Girls, Girls." Tour. Yeah, that's right. It's fucking happening.

Honestly, I can't believe we even made it to this point. At the rate that things were going, I'm shocked that we got the record finished in the first place. Rehearsals were constant fights and arguments, and usually ended with at least one of us storming out. Then again, I'm not surprised. You can't really have a productive meeting if every single person is fucked up. I know I wasn't any help. Yeah, sure, I wrote the songs, but I was blacked out in the bathroom three quarters of the time. I didn't even bother showing up to half of the meetings anyway, because obviously, my drugs were more important.

Now that I'm clean, the music is the priority again. I'm very excited. T-Bone had told me weeks ago about this vision he had... and he made it come true. A revolving drum set. It's nothing we ever had before, and nothing I had ever thought of, but with T-Bone's crazy imagination and child like enthusiasm, he got it to happen, and it's going to be so sick! I'm happy for him... I wonder if his parents ever imagined their son growing up to spin upside down while playing the drums in front of thousands of people. 

They had a winner, I'm tellin' ya.

I gotta tell you about the show, though. I haven't felt this good in a long fucking time. 

"Ladies and gentlemen... Please welcome, the BAD BOYS of Rock and Roll... MOTLEY CRUE!"

The crowd roared, Tommy started pounding on his drums, and the chaos had officially begun.

This is what I was waiting for. THIS is the reason why I decided to fight through junk withdrawals. It was pure torture. It was pure HELL, but it was worth it.

It was worth it for this.

It was worth it for the music.

"She's only eighteen..."

Vince's signature voice rang out throughout the arena. I think we sounded great. Mick was shredding, Tommy was killing it, Vince was tearing it down, and I was jumping all over the fucking stage. I can genuinely say, we have as much fun up there as it looks like we do.

"All in the name of... All in the name of rock and roll!"

One of the best parts of performing for me is hearing the crowds sing along to lyrics that you put your whole heart and soul into writing. Knowing that people enjoy and connect to your music feels somewhat validating. It's like there's people out there that understand you.

Maybe I'm not so alone, after all.


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it's just me and Nikki alone up there, I see a glimpse of the real Nikki that I met years ago. I see the true Nikki that is always hidden and blocked out by drugs and self-destruction. When he plays his solo, you can feel his passion and this strong sense of happiness and true enjoyment, because the music is one of the only things that can channel that genuine part of him. The drugs disconnect him from his true self. The music is what brings him back.

Tommy's P.O.V

"Girls, Girls, Girls" Tour  
June 1987:

Dude! We made it.

We fucking made it to our tour. Everything that we never thought would come together because of how fucked up things were with Sixx and all of the band's stupid arguments, actually had all of the pieces fall into place. We did it.

I was really losing hope, I'm not gonna lie. I know I'm usually the most optimistic and happy go lucky guy in Motley, but things were going downhill pretty fast, and I didn't want to admit that I thought we would never make it to this point.

But... fuck that! We did it! 

Sixx is clean, and he worked his fucking ass off to get to where he is, and man, did I miss that bastard. I feel like I went through Hell with him, since I was watching over him all the time, but I just wanted to make sure he was going to be okay. What kind of friend leaves you alone to deal with something as torturous as junk withdrawals? No way in hell would I do that to him. That would be cruel, man.

Yeah, it was painful for me to watch. It sucked having to see him in agony trying to get through it, but Sixx is a tough fucker, and he made it. I knew he would. There were small parts of me and moments where I was a little scared that he would end up cracking and go right back, but deep down I had all the hope in the world for him... and he proved once again, that he really is Nikki Fucking Sixx and will do anything he sets his screwed up head to.

It's been amazing to watch him slowly transform back into his genuine badass self. Man, I forgot how sick the songs he can write are when he's actually lucid and can put his whole heart and soul into them. It makes me so happy to see how passionate he is about the music and Motley again. This was his vision after all. We wouldn't be where we are as a band if it wasn't for Nikki's crazy dream. I think a lot of times we forget that, because of how fucked up things have been with him, but there would be no Motley Crue if there was no Nikki. So, thank god he's back.

We've been on the road now for 2 weeks. Things have been pretty chill for the most part. I missed the craziness and chaos and adrenaline rushes and everything that our tours bring. I missed the screaming audience, the dramatic stage set ups, our ridiculous and obnoxious shows in general... I missed being the bad ass fuckers we are. I missed being able to perform together without wanting to kill each other. It feels like family again. Hopefully we can keep it this way!

I'm expecting so much crazy shit to happen... I'm surprised there hasn't been much.... yet. It just reminds me of that one time that I was running around naked up and down the halls of the hotel we were staying at, and Mick was accused of it and ended up getting arrested. He was.... not happy. Of course I thought it was fucking hilarious. And then there was that time we toured with Ozzy. Ohhh man, what a fucking TRIP that was dude. Watching that fucker snort ants off the ground through a straw is something that will never be erased from my mind. Poor Sharon. She was our 24/7 babysitter... And Doc. Forget it, man. I don't know how he still deals with our shit all the time. I give the guy so much credit. We can be real pieces of shit sometimes. Real forces to be reckoned with... but honestly, I wouldn't want it any other way.

Right now we're all in our dressing rooms getting ready for our show that's gonna start in like a half hour or so. I'm already feeling a buzz from the Jack I drank, and the few lines of coke I snorted. Hey, we all need a little boost... It's not like anyone's gonna tell us no. Okay, sure they can tell us no, but do you REALLY think we're gonna listen? This is our show; this is our fun. You gotta let loose sometimes.

Sixx just came bursting in. He looks awesome, man. His hair is up to the ceiling from all that Fucking hairspray he downs it in. His eyeliners on point, his chains are clacking, and he's smirking right at me. I can tell he definitely had a few drinks, but hey, it's better than snack. I could deal with that.

"You look fucking sick, man!"

I can't hide the enthusiasm in my voice. I'm so pumped up. Maybe I had a little too much coke, but you know, fuck it!

"Thanks, bro...". He looks at me proudly, and then raises an eyebrow as he laughs. "Dude, how much blow did you snort?!"

I grin mischievously, look down, and scream, "NOT ENOUGH!" as I throw him a baggy.

Before he could even look at it, there's a pounding on the door and Fred, our security guard bursts in.

"SIXX!"

Nikki pops his head up, and jumps.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck?!"

"YOU GUYS ARE STARTING IN 2 MINUTES! I've been looking for you!"

"Alright, chill out, buddy. You found me." He laughs and pats me on the back.

"And what the fuck is THIS?!" He grabs the bag of coke from Nikki's hand.

Oh shit.

And what do you think Sixx responded with?

"He gave it to me." 

He pointed right at me. Figures. I smirk.

"You little shit...."

All of a sudden, I could hear the announcer on the loudspeaker.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN..."

"OH SHIT."

Fred doesn't hesitate to take action and grab both of us by the wrists, roughly. He treats us like little kids that can't be trusted with anything. I mean.... can't really blame him. I'm a kid at heart. But still.... He's fucking brutal, man. 

"GET YOUR ASSES OUT THERE."

You don't fucking mess with Fred. He will not hesitate to kick you to the curb or get your ass in gear. Honestly, sometimes he scares me. We usually know not to screw with him... you know, everyone except Sixx. But then again, Sixx will fight anyone and anything. He doesn't take shit. He's such a stubborn fuckhead.

Nikki looks at me with a devious smile on his face.

"You ready?"

I roll my eyes and smirk back at him.

"When am I not?"

* * *

You know what my favorite part of our show is? No, it's not my fucking crazy drum solo, where I spin with my drum kit in every direction possible, including upside down, even though that's obviously a close second, considering that no one thought I would be able to turn one of my crazy dreams into a reality. No... what's even better than that is when I get to play my drums with Nikki playing his bass solo. It's just the two of us up there on that stage, jamming out together like we did in the old days...

You're probably wondering what the big deal is about that, since we play music together all the time. Yeah, of course we're always performing together, but this is different. When it's just me and Nikki alone up there, I see a glimpse of the real Nikki that I met years ago. I see the true Nikki that is always hidden and blocked out by drugs and self-destruction. When he plays his solo, you can feel his passion and this strong sense of happiness and true enjoyment, because the music is one of the only things that can channel that genuine part of him. The drugs disconnect him from his true self.

The music is what brings him back.

I start to get nostalgic, because it reminds me of all of the crazy ass good times that we would always have. It gives me hope that maybe, slowly, pieces of the true Nikki are falling back into place, and soon we will be having those crazy times together in our life, not just on stage for all of our fans to see.

Every damn night, I look forward to that shit. And tonight is no different than the rest.

We're in the middle of playing "Ten Seconds To Love", and once Mick is finished with his solo, it's time to shine.

The guitars start to fade, Vince stops singing, and it's left with me pounding on my drums in sync with Nikki's bass rhythm. Vince is up in Nikki's face now, in his usual intoxicated state, with his arms wrapped around his neck. Nikki just stands there with a dazed out smile on his face, as Vince introduces him to the crowd... as if they don't know who the fuck he is.

"Come here boy..."

Why is he such a fucking tool?

"Lemme introduce you to someone... This is Mr. Nikki Sixx..."

Man, he's slurring out of his mind. I'm surprised that he can still sing as good as he's doing tonight.

"This fucker was voted one of the nastiest, sleaziest, motherfuckers in all of Chicago!"

I can't help but smirk, and I bet Nikki is too because we both know those two words perfectly describe that bastard... when he's not a fucked up mess.

"Show 'em how to get nasty, boy!"

Here we go! As Vince runs off to the side of the stage, Nikki starts strumming his bass while I'm drumming my ass off. I can't help but stare at him from up here, because he looks so happy, and that makes me happy. I gotta be careful to not get too distracted though, since I always end up in La La Land in my head so easily. It might screw up my drum beat, and then that would screw Nikki up, and then the song would be screwed up, and the set would be screwed up...

Oh, who cares? We're already screwed up. We're the four biggest fuckers on the planet right now. Nothing that we do really fazes anyone any-more. Everyone is used to our shit. They've been used to our shit for the past 6 years.

Well, fuck. I must have gotten distracted because I just realized that I dropped one of my drumsticks... and, shit, it looks like it's gonna hit someone. No, not someone... something. I'm trying to move my head to get a better view without it being super obvious---

OH FUCK IT DID NOT JUST HIT NIKKI IN THE ASS.

Oh yeah... Yes, it did.

I'm trying so hard to hide the devious smirk that is forming on my lips. I feel like I'm about to crack the fuck up. There's just something about accidentally hitting someone in the ass with a drumstick that I find pretty damn hysterical.

Wait, did anyone even notice? Well, apparently Mick did, because you should see the glare he just shot at me. I just keep smirking. Now Nikki is smirking just as hard as I am, maybe even harder. He looks like he's about to fuck up his solo any minute now because he won't stop giving me sly grins, and I can't stop staring back at him. I wonder if the audience noticed.

The next thing I know, it's that time when Nikki is supposed to throw himself across the stage.

He stops playing his bass, and I keep on drumming, as my smirk only gets bigger. Now I actually get to yell at him.

"YEAH!"

Nikki is doing all of his crazy hand motions as I keep screaming at him.

"FUCKER!"

You know how much I love screaming obnoxiously to a crowd of people screaming back? A whole fucking lot!

Just as I'm about to scream another totally obnoxious thing at Nikki, the stage lights darken, a loud boom is heard, and there he goes, throwing himself around the stage like a mad man. I honestly don't know how the hell he does that every night. It looks like it hurts like a motherfucker. Spinning upside down is one thing, but it doesn't involve inflicting physical pain on yourself on purpose, for the sake of audience entertainment... But Nikki is a fucking savage. I wouldn't have expected anything less than destructive from that fucker. Neither do our fans. They're all cheering their asses off, as Nikki just lays there, face up, on the ground, with a devious look of pure satisfaction written on his face.

And there's Vince running back up to the front of the stage to join him. He looks even drunker than before. He probably drank half of the Jack that Nikki is supposed to fling at the audience. He's not even supposed to be drinking, but who am I to say anything to him, when I know I'm not an angel myself. None of us are. I mean, Mick, seriously?! Who the fuck knows what's in that cup he always drinks out of on the side of the stage. I know it's not water. Look, I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid. There's a difference. Anyway, I'm getting off track...

It's time to get fucking wasted!

The bottles of Jack are officially getting delivered, Nikki pops up from the ground like a fucking salivating puppy staring at a bone or something, and Vince is doing his usual ramble about partying and getting fucked up. He goes on forever, and I can tell that Nikki would do anything to chug that whole bottle of Jack. I can't blame the dude, I'm waiting too. But Vince doesn't fucking shut up, so we're here, being forced to wait patiently like good school children.

My god, finally! Nikki's spraying the alcohol all over the audience, and now Vince is telling the crowd to cheer him on as he's about to gulp that shit down.

"FUCKING CHUG IT, NIKKI!"

The look on Nikki's face, as he stares at his precious poison... He can't wait to drink that shit.

"FUCKING DOWN IT, SIXX!"

He doesn't even let the audience finish before he chugs the full thing, as if he hasn't drank anything all day. He meets my eyes and just smiles one of the biggest, cheesiest smiles that I have ever seen, come from him. Soon I'll be joining him in that happiness, because now it's my turn.

"Looks like Mister Lee is looking pretty thirsty tonight..."

Fuck yeah, I am! I start making obnoxious faces and grab my throat to be extra dramatic.

"You think he deserves a drink tonight?!"

The screams of the audience signal that, they too, believe I deserve a drink, just as much as I do myself.

The next thing I know, Vince is screaming with the crowd, as I'm handed the bottle.

"FUCKING DOWN IT, TOMMY!"

You don't have to tell me twice. You can bet your ass, I'll gulp that whole thing down before anyone has the chance to see it happen... and that's exactly what I do.

Nikki is staring at me with such pride, almost like he's my father or something. Vince is jumping all over the goddamn place like the attention whore he is, Mick is just standing in his corner near his suspicious cup, and I am just sitting in my drum set, content and satisfied with the buzz that is coming on from the show I just put on.

The rest of the show is usually a blur from there. I typically don't remember details of whatever the fuck else went on for the rest of the night, but tonight I feel weirdly lucid... I guess that means I need more Jack!

Nikki doesn't seem too lucid though. I can't really blame him. With all of those random ass pills and drug concoctions he puts together, in addition to all of the alcohol... who the fuck knows what his body is doing? He still seems to be having a good ol' time, though.

"I can't believe you hit me in the fuckin' ass with a drumstick..." He's slurring so bad, and he's so wasted but still remembers that. Of course.

I can't hide my smirk. I feel myself getting red in the face, and nudge him, defensively.

"You know you liked it so shut up!"

He sticks his tongue out at me, and grabs a bottle of vodka off the counter.

"You know what..."

I narrow my eyes.

"What?"

I don't even get a chance to breathe before that fucker pours vodka on my head.

"Ohhhhh man...." I nod my head in amused disapproval. "You're gonna get it now..."

Before you know it, we're chasing each other down the halls, throwing random shit at each other like little kids would at a playground or something. 

"Hey, Sixx!" I sneer, as I grab a beer bottle off the floor, "Suck this!"

I throw it as far down the hall as I can, having the intention of beating Nikki to getting it, but it ended up hitting someone in the head instead. Well.... fuck.

My eyes dart over to Nikki, and my heart skips a beat. A wave of adrenaline surges through me.

"RUN!"

Fast as lightening, we're bolting all the way back down the hall where we came from. Even in his intoxicated state, Sixx still knows we're fucked, and whispers.

"If Fred finds out he'll kill us!"

Then he started laughing. So did I. 

Let's face it, everything we do is hilarious. We're the terror twins. No one can fuck with us.

As we're running frantically, laughing our fucked up asses off, all I could think to myself is how much I missed this, and how many people we're probably pissing off right now. It's fucking great. We're such assholes but come on... we can't be the ONLY people who think it's hysterical to get others so mad that they want to throw you out the window!

Once we made it to the other side of the hall, where our dressing rooms were, Nikki gives me a dazed out look.

I stare back. He's definitely up to something. I narrow my eyes.

"What are you thinking?"

He doesn't answer. He just grins.

As I see Fred running towards us out of the corner of my eye, I nod my head, close my eyes, and smile with a sick sense of contentment.

Let the chaos begin.

Shit's about to get fucked up.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I’m ALIVEEEE (live wireeee) Okay I’ll shut up but yes I’m alive and everything is good! I had a lot of shit going on and I hadn’t had the motivation to update but I somehow got my creative spark back tonight so I figured GO FOR IT!!! Your comments and feedback always motivate me and are so appreciated so THANK YOU!! 
> 
> Also I’m gonna give a trigger warning on here ...
> 
> There’s multiple flashbacks that involve mild child abuse , so if any of that triggers you please be careful. It’s not descriptive but I would hate if you put yourself in a bad mental state from  
> Reading a story...
> 
> I care about you guys and I write about difficult topics a lot of times so I just want you to take care of yourselves!! 
> 
> Alrighty that’s it... I hope you enjoy!!!

Nikki’s POV:

August 1987:

Two months.

We’ve been on the road for two months already. I can’t tell if time is flying by faster than ever or if everything is getting becoming blurred after doing the same shit day after day.

If you ask me, it’s probably the second option, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been having a fun time.

Trust me, me and T-Bone have been getting ourselves into all sorts of fucked up shit, and my sick ass self just loves it.

I know whenever I need a thrill, no one can provide that better than he does. He can drag me outta my hotel room when I’m becoming an isolating depressive hermit, when if any one else tried, they could fail. He could get me to do things that Doc would beg me hours and days on end to do. I don’t know what it is about that fucker, but he’s got a gift.

And honestly, I’m goddamn grateful for that.

Vince has been his usual dramatic ass self, the typical “prince Vince”. What else is new? I rarely see him besides when we’re performing together, because he’s more than likely got his dick up a blonde big titted stripper.

Don’t even ask me about Mick.

He’s a complete bad ass shredder on stage, but I feel like he’s a bit mysterious these days. None of us really know what’s up with him when we’re not together. He’s not the most open person, but you bet I can’t hide any of my shit from him. He can see right through me, and sometimes it’s a little freaky. With just one glare, I already know he means business and he doesn’t even need to open his fucking mouth. I still don’t know how he’s dealt with us all of these years, especially on this tour with the way me and T-Bone have been acting, I’m surprised he hasn’t found a way to kill us yet.

He’s probably plotting a scheme this very moment, but again, it’s Mick. Who the hell knows what goes through that head of his.

We actually have a show in a few hours, and I’m still in the same dirty clothes I’ve worn the past two nights. I really don’t have the energy to give a fuck. If I smell up there, everyone’s just gonna have to deal. And plus, if I change who’s gonna win the “who can go the longest without showering” contest between me and T-Bone? Like I would let him beat me to that shit. Yeah... right.

Suddenly, a hear a pounding knock on my hotel door.

“SIXX! HURRY THE FUCK UP!”

Oh... of course.

Doc.

What else was I expecting?

* *

Dude, that show went better than I expected! T-Bone hit me up with a shit load of blow so when I got up there, I was buzzing with this wild energy and total insanity. It was great.

(And you bet he gave me a huge baggie of it to take back with me.)

I’m sweating bullets, and the adrenaline is still pumping as I head back to my hotel room. Without a second thought, I pour the bag of coke out on my dresser, and snort as much of that shit up as I could in one sitting. What else is new? I’m Nikki Fuckin’ Sixx. This is just typical behavior for me, and everyone knows it. Just because I’m not hooked on smack anymore, it doesn’t mean I can’t fuck around with Jack and blow. I mean, come on, I wouldn’t be able to make it through this tour without SOMETHING!

Ask anyone.

Ask T-Bone. He knows it makes life way more fun and enjoyable.

I mean, sure I could have waited a little bit longer to snort the rest of it, since I’m already coked out of my head but again... look who were talking about here.

I don’t do “normal.”

I don’t do “typical.”

I do extreme.

I get curious. I like to push my limits. I’ll do things that other people wouldn’t DARE to do or even touch.

No one can tell me “no.”

I know what I’m doing. I think people should trust me every once in a while. I’m not THAT fucked up.

I wonder if maybe I should have thought differently before I decided to listen to my voicemail.

I can’t help it. The blinking light on that ratty hotel phone would bug the shit outta me if I don’t do something about it. Might as well. It could be from anyone. And I could care less. All of my senses are just stimulated right now so that light is pissing me the hell off and there’s just an urgency that I have to make it go away.

I guess we can say the curiosity is getting the best of me.

And now... I can say that was probably the biggest mistake I’ve made today.

In a long time.

* *

As soon as I heard that sickly sweet, fake voice rip through my telephone receiver, I knew it was all over.

I thought I was done with her shit. I thought she had left me alone for good. I really thought I was finally free from her bullshit, and her lies.

I was wrong.

I was, oh so wrong.

Suddenly that high I was feeling just came crashing down like a pile of concrete bricks.

“Frankie... it’s your mom... I’m just calling to see how you’re doing. I know you’re probably busy... being a big star and all... Just... give me a call sometime. I miss you—-“

“FUCK YOU!”

Liar. Manipulator. Fake. Gaslighter.

My “mother” never fucking loved me. She never cared.

“Shut up...”

I am clenching my fists at this point. I would do anything to get that fucking fake ass voice off of my answering machine.

“SHUT UP!”

It didn’t matter what I did, because that pain would always be there... Even if I never decided to listen to her voicemail in the first place, it wouldn’t have made all of the ways she’s hurt me disappear. The wounds are dug so deep into my heart and soul that I don’t think anything could take them away. Before I could ruminate more, the unthinkable happened.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

I screeched so loud that I’m shocked the hotel walls didn’t shake... I can’t stop trembling at this point, because she was right in front of me... and right behind her was my bastard of a father. They both were staring at me with wide eyes.

My whole body filled up with such an intense rage that I felt like if I just stood where I was, I would crack the floor.

This cannot be happening...

This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be. There was NO fucking way.

I couldn’t even move. I stood frozen in place... in the middle of my hotel room. The two figures wouldn’t go away. I kept squeezing my eyes shut, hoping that when I opened them, I would have snapped myself out of whatever kind of Hell I got myself into.

But it didn’t work.

That’s when I screamed.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!”

“Oh... Frankie... I just miss you... You are my son after all...”

My mom cooed, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

“Don’t call me that!”

I grabbed my bottle of Jack and threw it on the floor, letting it shatter all around the room. I was shaking with anger.

“You are no mother to me... YOU’RE A FUCKING LIAR!!!”

She just stared at me. The longer she stared, the more agitated I got.

“All you’ve done in your life is hurt me! You obviously never had time for me because you were too busy fucking guys you picked out of the trash!”

I didn’t know how to make the anger go away. I started grabbing anything I found on my floor, and threw them at the walls.

“YOU ONLY GIVE A SHIT BECAUSE YOU WANT MY GODDAMN MONEY!”

I started to pull at my hair. I was shaking so damn badly, I felt like I could have been seizing... Can too much cocaine do that to you?

“YOU’RE SUCH A PIECE OF SHIT WHO DOESN’T CARE ABOUT ANYONE BUT YOURSELF!”

I pulled it harder.

“YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF FUCKING CRAP! WHY THE FUCK WON’T YOU LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE?!”

I pulled until clumps started to fall out. It didn’t even hurt.

Nothing hurt as bad as the thoughts and voices in my head.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

She won’t go away.

“STOP!”

“Frank.”

All of a sudden, I froze... because that wasn’t my mom’s voice...

It was my “dad’s”.

Silence ran through the room for a good 20 seconds...

...until I completely lost it.

My hand was in a fist, and before I could say anything, I started punching the wall as I hysterically screamed at the top of my lungs.

“I AM NOT FRANK!”

I kept punching until my hand started bleeding. I kept punching until it burned. I kept punching until my hand went numb. And I kept screaming.

Then, I started crying.

 

• •

“OPEN THE DOOR!”

Fuck.

“NO.”

Push. Push. Push.

Shit.

“NO!”

“FRANK...”

“I DON’T WANT YOU IN HERE. LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF CRAP. YOU ARE A DIRTY BASTARD AND—-“

“I GET IT. YOU WANT TO MAKE MY LIFE MISERABLE. I FUCKING GET IT.”

“YOU’RE MAKING MY LIFE MISERABLE BECAUSE YOU’RE SO MUCH TO FUCKING HANDLE. MAYBE IF YOU KNEW HOW TO BEHAVE—-“

“YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY ANYTHING NICE DO YOU?!”

“I’M SICK OF YOUR FUCKING ATTITUDE. SAY ANOTHER WORD AND ILL KICK YOU OUT.”

“FINE. I’ll be happier that way so I won’t have to be with you.”

“EXCUSE ME?!”

“Yeah! THAT’S RIGHT. Because this isn’t a fucking home to me!”

I should have expected my cheek to throb after that one...

“That’s Fucking bullshit...”

* *

One month later:

September 1987:

The nightmares are back.

I’m haunted almost every night.

Ever since the day I decided to listen to my fucking voicemail, and I hallucinated in my hotel room, I’m feeling stuck.

Stuck in a world of self-loathing, isolating, crippling depression.

It creeps up on you at first... sneaks it’s way in so you can’t tell. You just think you’re feeling a little down one day, but then it gets stronger and it grabs ahold of you, and soon enough you’re stuck alone isolating yourself for days on end, ruminating over all of this shit that you wished you never had to face in the first place.

Thanks to my subconscious, I’m constantly reminded of how much of a fuck up I am.

My parents never gave a shit. My dad left me before I was old enough to have any memories of him. My mom spent more time with her piece of shit boyfriends than she did with me. All of her boyfriends abused me, and even the kids I was at school with tormented me.

The thing is, I never got an answer as to WHY?

Why didn’t my parents love me?

Why was I treated so badly as a child?

Will anyone ever actually love me?

Will I ever be able to love anyone (or am I too fucked up to do that right?)

Where else can I find comfort besides booze and drugs?

Is there such a thing?

What is feeling “safe” and having a sense of “belonging” even feel like?

Will I ever get an answer to any of these questions?

* *

The second I heard a banging on my door, fear shot through my whole body. I hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet. What could I have possibly done wrong YET?

What do I even do? I think it’s just me... my presence, because it gets worse every day.

My eyes opened groggily, but soon enough the grogginess went away.

The look on the man’s face hovering over my bed would have scared anyone in their tracks.

“You just can’t do anything right, you piece of shit!”

* *

How much longer do I have to sit on this plane day in and day out, pretending I'm having the time of my life? That's what the fans all see. They think I'm living my best Fucking life, having a complete blast up there. The only reason I'm able to keep up that facade is because of all of the booze and drugs that I'm able to sneak in and pump myself with. Tommy doesn't know that I've been scoring China white and hiding it in my hotel rooms and my backpack, and there's no way that I'll end up letting him know. It would break his heart... shatter it completely. He doesn't deserve to have to feel that pain, and it's not like I haven't hurt him enough already. I have my fair share of guilt and shame from all the people that I've hurt because I can't seem to get a grip on my self destruction, and I really don't think I ever will. It's not in the cards for me. I've spent too much of my life this way, and I'm pretty sure my brain is permanently wired to continue on like this. Does this mean I'm happy, though? Fuck no. I'm absolutely miserable. So, what do I do? Well... it's more of the question of, what do I HAVE to do? I'm forced to keep up the facade. I can't let the fans down. If people saw me for who I really was without the booze and drugs, they would be completely horrified and would surely end up abandoning me, just like my fucking family. The music is the only family I have at this point, and if I lose that, I would have NOTHING. So yeah, every night I drown myself in alcohol, smash my guitars against hotel walls, fling glass bottles at innocent people, and throw myself violently across the stage for audience entertainment... because, well, there's no other choice at this point. I'm a rockstar, and this is what rockstars do... or should I say, it's what I NEED to do.

Wish me luck on keeping up this facade.

I’m gonna Fucking need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that escalated quickly...
> 
> AND I OOP.
> 
> (Plz tell me to stop embarrassing myself thx )


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Fred is dragging both of us out, I catch a glance at Tommy, and I could swear I saw I saw his eyes glistening, and all I could do is feel a pit in my stomach.
> 
> I’m fuckin’ screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Long time no post... (sorry about that) I go through periods of extreme motivation and then really bad writers block so it takes me a long time to update but I keep promising myself that I won’t give up on this story because whenever I do spit a chapter out I feel so good about myself and want to keep going (and of course all of your support helps too ❤️).
> 
> Since this is slightly based off of my own shit, things will get pretty deep and I’ll just put a trigger warning on this chapter just Incase... it has slight mentions of child abuse (no details) But I want you guys to stay safe while reading so if any of that triggers you DONT READ!!!! 
> 
> I care about you guys and want you to stay healthy!
> 
> Alrighty then.... on with the show ;)

Nikki’s P.O.V.

Late September/ Early October 1987:

If it weren’t for this tour were on right now, I think I would be going absolutely insane.

The noise in my head has become excruciatingly loud lately, and the only solution I’ve found to tone it down a notch is booze, pills, and of course... smack.

I’m being careful with the amount that I’m doing, because I know I can’t function right on tour if I overdue it, so I make sure to balance it out with the right amount of coke to even the affects out. It’s like a science, if you have a little too much of one of them you’re screwed. Too much smack and I’m nodding off in the middle of playing, or too much coke and I’m having fucking visions of my psychotic parents and get reminded of all of the torment they put me through. At least I know if that happens, I can down some alcohol to even it out. But still, people don’t realize how much work you gotta out into this shit. It’s like a full time job....

How pathetic does that sound?

I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt for not telling anyone about this, especially T-Bone. The poor guy thinks I’ve been staying clean from smack this whole time and I’m scared that one day he’ll soon catch on and I don’t even want to think about hurting the guy more than I already have with all of the shit that I’ve put him through. I wish I was able to just stop. It might not seem like it, but this isn’t enjoyable. It’s not really a choice like people think it is. If emotions and feelings weren’t so goddamn hard to deal with, I don’t think I would be relying so much on all of this shit. If my brain was Fucking normal, I would be able to function like a decent person without doing maladaptive things, even though part of me still doesn’t really consider what I’m doing “dangerous” or “maladaptive” because I’m functioning right? I’ve been able to hold myself together for this whole tour so far, and no one has questioned a goddamn thing. If they’re noticing anything, they’ve been keeping it to themselves because for once in my life they’ve been leaving me be and it’s such a relief...

I have to be careful about where I hide my smack though, because there’s been patterns of certain people snooping through my shit to spy on me and check up on me when I’m not paying attention. When I say certain people, I’m talking about Fred and Doc, those fucking assholes. Doc never trusts me. He treats me like a kid and never stopped, even when I’m doing okay. Part of me gets it. When you lie as much as I have, people lose their trust in you and it gets harder for them to believe you when you say things. The other part of me wants to punch him in the face whenever he looks at me, because I’m always prepared to get a condescending speech from him about me needing to take better care of myself. Hah, like I’ll fucking listen to him. He should know by now that his words don’t scare me or have an impact, but he keeps going at it. 

People waste too much of their energy on such insignificant things...

I’m snapped out of my trance by a faint knocking on my hotel room door.

Shit. What time is it?

I glance up at the clock and realize that we gotta be outside on the bus for our next show in 10 minutes. 

Jesus... this shit really is Fucking me up.

The knocking only gets louder, so I groan and drag my tired hungover body to the door, and open it, revealing T-Bone’s enthusiastic face.

“Dude!”

He pats me on the back and squeezes me into a crushing hug. Typical Tommy. He will always be a child at heart.

“Easy... easy...”

I’m slightly nauseous from my hangover so getting squeezed like that isn’t the best thing that could be happening right now. And also, why is he so excited? He’s acting like he hasn’t seen me in weeks, when literally we were on stage performing together last night.

“Are you ready for tonight? It’s gonna be SICK!”

Tommy’s whole body is vibrating with excitement and it makes me wonder if he already snorted a few lines. Me, on the other hand, not so much. I could feel my eyes starting to droop, because damn am I exhausted. That heroin that I shot up a few minutes ago definitely isn’t helping the case, but at least I have another excuse that I can use. Hangovers really drain the energy from you.

“Oh yeah... just another fuckin’ night...”

Tommy looked at me and frowned, and narrowed his eyes.

“You good?”

I snap my head up and blink a few times, and nod.

“Of course. Why you askin’”

T-Bone shrugs his shoulders.

“You just seem kinda worn out, dude... “

I laugh, and then groan.

“Well, yeah... I mean, hangovers aren’t the best—-“

He cuts me off.

“Come on. Stop with the excuses.”

Shit.

WHAT?!

I scrunch my face up in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“Hangovers might make you feel like shit, but they don’t make you hide away and disappear from the world.”

I look around my room, not knowing what to say. I haven’t been isolating THAT much, have I?

“You run back to your room every time we end a show. You never come and party with the rest of us, anymore.”

I can hear the slight bit of hurt in his voice and it shatters my heart, because he’s definitely right. I constantly retreat back to my shell so I can find my drugs and escape into my safety net of comfort and numbness.

I suddenly realize that I’ve zoned out and T-Bone is staring right at me with a look of suspicion written on his face.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

I roll my eyes.

“My god Tommy.... No!” I can feel frustration starting to bubble up within me, because fuck, he’s not as stupid as he acts, and he’s definitely catching on to my shit, and this is exactly what I feared would happen and now I have to find a way out like I always do because I can’t seem to be able to face the truth when it comes smacking me in the face. “I... I just need my space sometimes dude... To get away from all the stimulation.”

What a pathetic lie.

Good luck sticking to that one, Sikki.

“Well, you’re definitely REALLY stimulated right now, dude...”

I could swear I heard a hint of sarcasm in his voice. That’s how I know he’s not falling for my shit, and the effects of the smack are definitely showing right now.

God, this is fuckin’ embarrassing.

I would have rather it been Doc or Fred who caught me like this, honestly ANYONE other than T-Bone... But, just my luck, I guess.

I wish I could just be a normal person and be able to just be honest and tell him what’s going on, but that’ll never happen. I have way too much shame and embarrassment... He’ll hurt and when he hurts, I hurt, and when I hurt, I isolate and then drug myself up so I won’t have to feel hurt anymore.

It’s just easier if I keep on lying.

Before Tommy could say anything back to me, Fred barges into the room, grabs T-Bone by the hair and screams.

“GET YOUR ASS OUTTA HERE! WE GOTTA GO!”

Well, that certainly woke me up a bit.

“Yes sir.”

As Fred is dragging both of us out, I catch a glance at Tommy, and I could swear I saw I saw his eyes glistening, and all I could do is feel a pit in my stomach.

I’m fuckin’ screwed.

* * *

“YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER! MY FATHER IS SHITTY BUT YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER! YOU DON’T RULE ME! YOU DON’T GIVE ANYONE A VOICE AND YOU ARE A NARCISSIST.”

In that moment, I froze. I was frozen but everything was moving around me. I knew I went too far, and I knew I was going to get it right there and then. To my horror, I felt tears begin to drip down my face...

Boys don’t cry... Boys don’t cry... boys don’t cry...

“FUCK OFF!”

“I guess you haven’t learned yet that you should keep your mouth shut...”

That was it. I was going to get it.

Fear was instilled all throughout my body. Before I knew it, my arms were completely over my chest in a defensive posture, and I was shaking, with tears falling freely. I knew any movement would make it worse, but I started to run anyway.

I ran upstairs. Once I got to my room, I hid. I found the smallest place to hide. 

I heard the footsteps... The loud, angry, booming footsteps. I knew I couldn’t escape, and that I couldn’t stop what was about to happen no matter what I did.

“FRANK!”

Don’t answer. Don’t answer. Don’t answer.

“FRANK. YOU BETTER OPEN YOUR GODDAMN DOOR OR ILL DO IT FOR YOU.”

Don’t fight back. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.

That’s when I heard the kick.

And another kick.

And another.

I tried to block out the noise. I tried to numb myself out. I tried to check myself out. I couldn’t.

I knew I couldn’t be saved from this.

I heard a boom... To my horror, my door was kicked down...

I deserve it.  
I’m bad.  
I’ll learn this way.

“You really think you could hide from me, you fucking prick...”

* * *

Why do all of the safe people I have in my life leave me? Why do I always end up having to be abruptly separated from them? Whenever I get close to someone and put my trust into them, I end up losing them... and I feel alone all over again. Maybe this is my destiny - to be alone. To have no one.

Luckily, I know that whenever I do feel this way, I have my heroin... It’s a relationship that I will never lose. She never leaves me, and I will never leave her. I always know I am safe when I let her in - let her invade my whole system and run through my blood in my veins. She covers me in a blanket of peace... serenity. I don’t have to feel the painful reality of loneliness because I am not alone - she is always with me - me and her become one.

She always can sense when I’m not okay. She knows exactly when I need her. And before I know it, she finds her way into my heart and soul through my veins. It’s her soft sweet whispering that lures me... it creeps up on me in the best of times.

“Everything will be okay...”

She sounds so convincing... yet she is so manipulative. In the space that I’m in, I am completely blinded by that reality -

“Everything will be alright...”

Her voice gets closer, as more tears pour out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

“You’re never alone, Nikki...”

“You ALWAYS have me...”

And where does she end up leading me?

* * * 

Show? Done.

Exhaustion? Check.

Ready to run away and hide? Check.

The second I get into my dressing room, I can hear Tommy’s drunk ass running towards me. I can’t even close the door before he is up in my face.

“Sixx, what’s up with you?!”

Jesus Christ. There’s not gonna be a way out of this one, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try. So, I do what I do best: avoid and deny.

“Nothing! Would you just leave me alone?”

“Not until you tell me what the fucks goin’ on with you! You’re acting weird.”

He’s slurring out of his goddamn mind, and the more he rambles on, the more irritated I’m getting.

“Tommy, you’re drunk. Go to bed.”

I’m about to slam the door on him, when he pushes it back open. He’s fucking relentless.

“I still have a brain, asshole! You think I don’t notice you actin’ strange all of a sudden? You weren’t like this at the start of the tour, what’s going on?”

“T-Bone. Cut it.”

The next thing I know, he’s halfway into my dressing room. Now I’m getting really pissed, and if he doesn’t stop, I will snap.

He doesn’t.

“No!”

I don’t let him finish. My patience is wearing thin.

“Get your drunk ass outta here or I’ll do it myself.”

I’m trying to push him out of the room, but he’s stronger than I realize. As I use all the strength I have, he screams at me.

“You always avoid everything! You push everything away and deny it. Why won’t you just be open with me?!”

I am officially done.

“How many times do I have to tell you to SHUT THE FUCK UP?! You sound more like a fucking therapist than a sleaze bag rockstar.”

“Well maybe because you need one!”

That did it. He was about to get it now.

A huge burst of adrenaline suddenly ran through my whole body, and before I could stop my impulses, I grabbed one of the bottles of Jack on my floor and flung it at the door. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces.

Then, without hesitation, my fist collided with Tommy’s jaw.

The look on Tommy’s face was a mixture of shock, fear, and anger. His mouth was open all the way to the floor, and he just stood there, frozen. It was like I told him I was fucking his wife or something. I was getting more irritated by the second.

“What the fuck was that?!”

Soon, his fist was in my face, and we were punching and kicking each other like we were in a boxing match. I could see out from the corner of my eye that people were coming over to see what was going on. I screamed from the top of my lungs.

“FUCK OFF!”

That scared them the fuck away, but I still had T-Bone to deal with. He still wouldn’t leave the damn room, and despite being knocked over, he still manages to give me sharp blows. To be honest, it hurt like fuck, but no way in hell am I telling him that. I’m not giving in.

I give him one last kick in the groin before he finally realized that I’m not gonna stop until he leaves.

“JESUS CHRIST!”

I’ve never heard such a loud yell from him, even when he’s wasted.

“SORRY THAT I ACTUALLY GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU!”

Yeah, I am too. Why do you fucking care so much anyway? You’re wasting your fucking time, but you just don’t give up, do you?!

“MAYBE YOU WOULD REALIZE THAT IF YOU DECIDED TO STOP BEING SUCH A STUBBORN, CLOSE-MINDED BASTARD!”

Ooh. That stung, but sometimes the truth hurts. It’s not something I don’t know. He doesn’t get to know that it hurts. Definitely not now.

I just glare at him. It looks could kill, he would be dead.

He’s staring at me, with fire in his eyes. If I look closely, I could see a tiny tear beginning to form in the corner of his left eye. He must know that I notice, because before I could say another word, he’s gone, leaving me with my door slammed in my face.

Now its my turn to be speechless. I’m stuck in the same position, almost in some kind of shock. I can feel the festering anger bubbling up to the surface once again. Soon, my whole body feels tense and before I can even think, I’m grabbing ahold of anything in that room that I could find. I scream from the top of my lungs.

“FUCK YOU!”

The first bottle of Jack hits the ground, joined by another, and another, and another. Soon, I can’t stop throwing things around the room, and I can’t stop screaming.

“BASTARD!”

I could feel my body getting hot, and the veins are bulging in my arms the more I slam things against the floor, and my wall.

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

I’m a goddamn adult. If I want to destroy myself, the least he could do is fucking let me. It’s my fucking life; let me do what I want with it.

“TREAT ME LIKE A FUCKING ADULT!”

The more I throw things, the angrier I get, and the more I scream. I’m basically throwing a tantrum like a kid would, but now I’m too far gone. What I’m doing is out of my control.

Not only is my mind spewing out angry thoughts about T-Bone, but now it’s throwing out those disgusting thoughts I have about myself.

It’s just making everything worse.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

I keep on yelling, as if my brain could hear me. I never know how to stop the thoughts.

“MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!”

Now, the anger is beginning to fade, and the deeper emotions are surfacing.

“STOP IT!”

All I want to do is bang my head against the wall, instead of the glass bottles. I bet even that wouldn’t make it shut up.

“STOP TORTURING ME!”

I squeeze my eyes shut and start pulling at my hair.

“YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!”

In the distance, I could hear a faint knocking on my door.

“Nikki?”

The knocking is getting louder.

“What the fuck is going on in there?!”

I ignore whoever is there, and give the door a huge kick, making a dent.

“GO TO HELL!”

It’s all a blur of anger, shattered glass, punches, and kicks, until I found myself in the middle of the trashed room. I can’t get myself to move. To my horror, I can feel tears dripping down my face.

I slowly lower myself on to the ground, not caring if I sit on broken glass and cut my ass. I hide my head in my knees, and wrap my hands around them. My whole body is shaking and quivering.

I just let myself cry, and before I know it my whole body is soaked in sweat and tears.

Tommy, you have no idea... You have NO fucking idea... You have no idea of the shit that goes on inside my head... The pain and torment I deal with on a daily basis... You have no FUCKING idea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeeeeeh.... so yeah. 
> 
> Maybe some day I’ll write something that’s NOT emotional


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s taking all of my fuckin’ strength to not start crying right now, because fuck, that goddamn devil of a drug is consuming him again.
> 
> I finally had hope that I was getting the real Nikki back, but now it turns out that I’m just losing him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! Wow i can’t believe I was able to spit out another chapter so soon! I haven’t had this much motivation in a while so this is exciting.... I’m also having a really fun time planning the future chapters because I can already foresee where this story is going.
> 
> As always thank you for all the kudos and support and comments. They’re always appreciated and keep me going!
> 
> Enjoy :,)

Nikki’s P.O.V.

October 1987:

Dear “Dad”,

Why did you leave me? I was always told that I didn’t do anything wrong, but no other explanation makes sense to me. Was I just too much of a bother to you and mom? Actually, that couldn’t be, because you left her too. I live with these unanswered questions every day, and they haunt me every waking moment. I just want to know why. Was I not a good enough son for you? What did I do wrong? I will never understand why you ignored me for half of my life. Why you’re such a miserable person. Is this why I’m such a miserable person? Because of what you did to me? Wherever you’re going when you die, I hope I won’t end up there. There’s a special place in Hell for people like you.

Your “son.”

* * *

It’s 4 in the fuckin’ morning and I can’t sleep. I’ve been laying awake in the same corner of my room that I’m always in. My brain won’t shut up, and I want to rip my head off. I can’t stop thinking about last night. The events keep replaying in my head over and over again, like a merry go round, and it’s been non-stop. I can’t help but feel regret for the way I treated T-Bone. I feel like I have split personalities sometimes... I could be totally calm and collected one minute, until something sets me off and I become a fuckin’ devil. It’s like part of me is Satan reincarnated. I don’t know why this happens all the time, but it makes me feel like I’m fuckin’ crazy. There’s so much shit wrong with me and I just don’t do anything about it. I just continue doing the shit I’m doing, and it just makes me act like a bigger asshole than I already am. Honestly, Tommy did nothing wrong. Yeah he’s annoying when he’s drunk, but he really didn’t do anything. I know he kept trying to approach me because he cares and he’s concerned, and that’s what sets me off. It’s not him. It’s the idea of someone actually giving a shit about me that scares the crap outta me. I know that sounds fucked, and it definitely is, but lemme explain. 

I’m not used to people caring. My childhood was miserable, and the only memories of it that I have are horrible. I’m used to people leaving me. I’m used to complete abandonment, so the act of someone trying to get close to me is foreign. I’m used to disconnecting myself from others and the world because in my head that feels safer than letting myself in and exposing the raw parts of me to others. My “family” treated me like shit, like I was an object to be played around with. I wasn’t treated like a human, or a son. I was treated like fuckin’ trash, so that’s how I see myself: as a piece of trash. I don’t see any worth in myself because I was never taught that I had anything to offer to the world. Instead, I was taught that there were many things wrong with me as a person and that’s what caused everyone to abandon me and I was left all alone.

I know that T-Bone isn’t out to get me, and the guy has a huge heart. That’s the scary part. The fact that he cares so much about me freaks me out, so I end up running away, or escaping, or disconnecting, not facing the reality. That’s exactly what happened last night. I couldn’t face the truth, that someone is trying so hard to help me, when I don’t think I deserve to be helped... Plus, it’s not that big of a deal anyway. I’m no where near how fucked up I was before this tour started, so gimme a break.

Then there’s all the festering emotions. I keep trying to hold them in and numb them out with smack, but I guess that even that can’t suppress them forever and they end up coming out in the worst fuckin’ times. T-Bone ended up getting my wrath, and now I hate myself even more than I did before, because I just keep on fuckin’ hurting people.

One day he’s gonna end up leaving me too, and the only person that could be blamed is myself. I just can’t stop pushing people away, and I hate it.

I’m a fucked up bastard, and I hate it.

Things are gonna be so awkward when I show up at our sound check later today, I already know it. I don’t know how I’m supposed to approach T-Bone after last night. He probably wants to beat the shit outta me after what I did to him. I can’t blame him, but fuck, I can’t wait to get a ton of sarcastic comments thrown at me by my favorite blonde diva about all the bruises on my arms. I’m not talking about track marks. I’ve been careful with where I shoot up lately. I mean from all of the bottles of Jack that I threw around last night, and all the punches that T-Bone threw at me. 

They really look fucked up. It looks like I got a good beating... Hah, I’ve had my fair share of those from Deana’s dirty piece of trash boyfriends.

I could try to use makeup to cover them up, but I don’t think there’s even a fuckin’ point. It’s too much work. Everyone knows I’m reckless anyway so why should they be surprised.

I’m exhausted but I still can’t close my fuckin’ eyes, so I think I’m just gonna have to shoot up and hope that gets me to pass out for at least an hour.

Today’s gonna be a shit show, and I’m not looking forward to it.

* * *

I’m abruptly woken up by three pounding knocks on my hotel room door, and all I want to do is slam my head down and go back to sleep. I feel like screaming, because no part of me wants to drag myself to sound check. No part of me wants to fuckin’ perform tonight either. 

The knocks continue, and that’s when I realize I really have no choice but to move my ass. It feels like it takes all of my strength just to lift my head up and sit up. That definitely felt like way less sleep than it actually was.

My whole body is tense, and as I lift my arms up to stretch, I feel a huge crack in my shoulder.

Well... that’s just great.

I’m literally falling apart but I don’t have enough will to give a shit right now.

I untwist the door knob and come face to face with Doc. Of course he looks pissed, but what else is new.

I just stare at him.

“Yes?”

“You better have your ass out this door in 5 minutes.”

I know he means business, and I just groan, and I slam the door back in his face.

* * *

The first thing I hear when I walk into the room and grab my bass, is Vince complaining. Honestly, what else should I have expected? Some things don’t fucking change.

I’m hesitant to come in contact with the rest of them because god, I know I look like hell, and I’m not ready for all the comments I’m about to get. I should really be mentally prepared for this at all times, but I’m telling you, today I’m just not feeling any of this at all. I would do anything to just drag myself back to my hotel room and pass out.

“Holy fuck—-“

I snap my head up, and there’s Vince. He’s staring up and down my arms.

I roll my eyes and turn my head, trying to avoid confrontation as much as I can.

“Yeah, yeah... We know.”

“T-Bone got you good last night, didn’t he?”

What the FUCK?

How does he know what happened?!

I could feel my whole body getting hot, because I’m fuckin’ embarrassed right now. Of all people to figure out the shit show that went on, it had to be Vince.

Then, I spot T-Bone in the far corner. I really just want to run away right now, because I feel so goddamn horrible about what happened, but I’m gonna try my best to be an adult about this and stay. 

Sometimes there’s things you just don’t wanna do, but you gotta do them anyway.

I take a breath, and Tommy must have noticed me because before I know it he’s in my face.

It takes a lot of my strength to not look away and hide behind my hair.

“Dude...”

He sounds a little shaken up, as he grabs the sleeve of my jacket.

“Your arms... Fuck.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, because I just realized that most of those bruises aren’t even from him. They were from when I had a fuckin’ psychotic episode and basically beat the shit outta myself with glass and whatever the hell else I found in that room. I could feel my face flushing because now all the shame is bubbling up, and fuck, I hate that goddamn feeling.

“Let it go... It’s fine.”

T-Bone bugs out.

“Nik... that’s really not fine. You look fuckin’ terrible.”

As I cringe at the concern, part of me wonders if he even remembers anything from last night. 

All of a sudden, I feel anger starting to surface, and I can feel my other personality coming out.

“Fuck off.”

Jesus Christ.... seriously?

I could hear a exasperated groan.

“Come on, Nik! Look, I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking...”

He’s babbling on, and I can tell he’s desperate right now, and he genuinely feels really bad. 

However, just hearing him speak is making all of my emotions come out even stronger and I want to shut them out.

Now the idea Tommy this close to me is making me so uncomfortable and I need him to get the hell away from me.

“Please, leave me alone.”

I sound like an asshole, and you have no idea how much I hate myself right now. I don’t know how to deal with this. Fuck trying to act like an adult. That’s too much work. I can’t do it.

The next thing I know, I’m in the bathroom, and I feel like I’m gonna be sick. I take a few deep breaths, before I grab a bottle of Jack and gulp half of it down, hoping it will calm my nerves.

When I feel calm enough to approach everyone again, I come out, grab my bass, and stare at everyone. I kinda just want to get this whole sound check and show over with.

“Well... come on. What’s everyone waiting for?”

* * *

Tommy’s P.O.V.

Every day I’m getting more and more worried about Nikki. It’s not like I haven’t known what’s going on, but things are getting worse and he’s acting strange. I’m getting a really bad feeling that there is something really serious going on underneath the surface that he’s not telling anyone about.

The other night, I think he had a mental breakdown in his dressing room. He locked himself in there after one of our shows, and all I heard was glass shattering and loud banging, like there was an earthquake going on or something. It went on for what seemed like an eternity. Then it got weirdly quiet, and all of a sudden I heard him start to hysterically scream and curse out loud. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that someone was in there attacking him.

He came into sound check with bruises up and down his arms. I’m used to seeing those, but these weren’t track marks. They looked like someone grabbed him and hurt him, or even worse, he could have done it to himself. I confronted him about it because I can’t ignore something like that, but what do you think I got in response?

“Fuck off.”

“Go away.”

“Cut it, T-Bone.”

“Leave me alone.”

Honestly, part of his responses are probably my own fault. I know I blew up at him pretty bad the other night. Sure, I was fuckin’ wasted, but that’s really no excuse. I kinda feel bad now thinking about how I acted. I’m just so scared and concerned and just want to help. Whenever I try to, I get shut down so I get so aggravated and frustrated, because I just want to get through to him!

I just want him to understand that people actually care about him and give a shit!

I wish it was easy to get that across, but obviously it’s worse than pulling teeth. Everyone keeps on telling me to give up and to stop because I’m not gonna get anywhere doing what I’m doing, but I fuckin’ can’t! I feel like if I just ignore everything, something bad is gonna happen and it scares the living SHIT outta me. I know I can’t change other people, but I just want to HELP.

It’s hard to help someone if they don’t want your help. But I can’t stop trying. It’s because I care too damn much to let all of this go.

* * *

Nikki’s P.O.V.

God, that show was exhausting. I even snorted a little bit of coke before we went on to try to wake myself up, but I still didn’t feel right. The fans still seemed to enjoy it though, and that’s really all that counts. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be dragging myself out here every night and doing these ridiculous stage antics that tear my body apart. 

Oh, the fucked up things I’ll do for the sake of audience entertainment.

I do feel a little better than I did earlier, and I’m thinking about maybe apologizing to T-Bone and hangin’ with me for a little bit. I feel like he deserves that after how I’ve treated him. Plus, I kinda want this decent mood to last and he can help me with that.

* * *

Tommy’s P.O.V.

The next morning:

Oh man... what a night.

I’m in Nikki’s hotel room. He finally decided to come back from the dead and let me in so we could get wasted and fuck shit up like we used to! It was fucking GREAT. It honestly felt like we hadn’t spent time together outside of performing in so long, because trust me, when Nikki isolates, he ISOLATES. You almost forget he’s around because he will lock himself away from everyone completely. It’s like pulling teeth trying to get him to come out of his box of darkness or whatever the fuck you would call it. It’s Nikki, of all people. Sometimes I wish I could go inside his brain and see what goes on in there... That twisted sadistic bastard. God, you gotta love him though.

There’s a ton of Jack Daniels bottles littering his floor, scattered around as if we were trying to play catch with them. Honestly, I don’t remember much from last night other than gulping down ridiculous amounts of that shit, as if we don’t do that enough when we’re on stage together. But, come on, we all know there’s no such thing as too much Jack! 

Nikki is still passed out. He’s not even on his bed. Instead, he’s sprawled out in the deepest, darkest corner of the room. I can’t help but find it funny that even in his sleep he tends to find a way to hide. Part of me has the urge to go over to him and rub his fluffy hair but I know that probably isn’t the best idea. He’s like a cat when he sleeps. If you wake him up or disturb him, you’re screwed. Then, of course, the other part of me would hate to wake him up because when he sleeps he seems like he’s actually at peace. He’s finally able to escape whatever hell is eating him alive. I wish he could feel that same kind of peace all the time.

I’m noticing my head beginning to buzz and pound really badly. Well, that’s what hangovers do to you. I’m shocked I’m even awake right now. Dude, this sucks ass, I would love to pull my head off right now, but I keep telling myself that this pain was worth it since I had such a good time last night. Maybe Nikki has some painkillers or something. I gotta take a piss anyway, so I’ll check.

Well, nothing in the bathroom. Eh, whatever. I’ve dealt with hangovers before no problem. I should stop acting like a little pussy and get it together. Plus, I’ll just be having more Jack tonight anyway so it’ll be good!

As I’m about to walk out of the bathroom, I accidentally knock over a black backpack and a ton of shit just fell out.

Nice going, you klutz.

Right away, I start gathering the stuff together, when I notice a baggie of white powder. I would have guessed that it was cocaine... if I hadn’t seen the syringes that were sticking out right next to it.

I suddenly felt a huge pit in my stomach and I thought I was gonna be sick.

I was really hoping that what I was seeing wasn’t real...

Please let this be a dream...

Let me be seeing things or something.

Goddammit, PLEASE tell me this isn’t Fucking real right now.

I wish I never decided to look in the first place.

My heart was in my throat and it took everything in my power not to scream, because no part of me thought that I would be in this situation. 

No part of me thought that I would be face to face with heroin in Nikki’s suitcase on our fucking tour.

So many thoughts were running through my head.

How can this be happening?! He was doing so well! What the fuck happened? How long has it been happening? Why didn’t he tell me?! Why am I so goddamn stupid?!

Then, it all started coming back to me.

The droopy eyes.

The tiredness.

The weight loss.

The anger outbursts.

The isolating and hiding away.

The defensiveness.

I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. I was trying to push away the idea of him using again, because it hurt so bad to think of that possibility. I was telling myself that he was probably just depressed and that the tour really WAS wearing him out.

I was lying to myself the whole time without realizing it, because FUCK, I did not want to face the truth.

The truth is painful.

The truth HURTS.

Now, as I’m watching him sleep, I’m seeing it all.

He looks like death. His skin lost all its color and his hair looks like it’s falling out in clumps. His eyeliner is smeared across his face, I could see his rib cage through his T-shirt and who knows when the last time he fuckin’ showered was. And, oh god it’s taking all of my power not to go over to him and shake him. 

It’s taking all of my fuckin’ strength to not start crying right now, because fuck, that goddamn devil of a drug is consuming him again.

I finally had hope that I was getting the real Nikki back, but now it turns out that I’m just losing him...


	16. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know when the days gonna come. The day when I get a phone call saying that Nikki is dead. Every time I go to see him I’m terrified because he looks worse than the last. And every single time I pray to god that I won’t find him unconscious or not breathing. Sometimes I have nightmares about it. I know I sound like a pussy but I’m not sugar coating this any more. I’m petrified. And I feel completely helpless at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey!!!
> 
> First off, I just want to thank you for all of your support and comments and kudos and all that good stuff!! I’m honestly in awe and it all means so much to me! I had originally started writing this as a way to project my own emotions and process my emotions in a therapeutic way (I was living with my dad and let’s just say it was a bit traumatic... along with relapsing with my eating disorder really badly...) I used this as a coping technique at first but then because of you guys I decided to continue writing it and I am so glad I did because honestly writing is so therapeutic for me and I love being able to use my own experience in it too... so just... thank you (ok I’m done being sappy sorry lmao)
> 
> Also apologize for constantly making all of your emotions go haywire (I don’t think I can write anything happy!!! Oops)
> 
> Alrighty then... hope you like it :)

Nikki’s P.O.V.

October 1987:

The first thing that I felt when I opened my eyes was my head pounding. I found myself sprawled out in the corner of my hotel room, which fuck, it looks like shit. There’s an empty bottle of Jack next to me, and my clothes are scattered everywhere. I groan as I lift myself up, my head feeling like it weighs as much as a ton of bricks. 

Jesus... what the fuck happened last night?

That’s when I remembered that T-Bone was here. Yeah, I actually let him in and we got wasted way too fuckin’ fast, but what else is new? That would explain the hangover...

I stumble my way into my bathroom and almost couldn’t make it to the toilet before I barfed my guts out. My stomach feels like it’s torn up and my whole body feels heavy and in pain.

As I lift my tired body up, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and automatically cringe.

God... I look like fuckin’ hell.

I almost can’t recognize myself. I don’t think I really took the time to look at what this shit is doing to me... My skin is losing its color again and it’s starting to look grey. My eyes look lifeless, sunken in, and my hair looks tangled and choppy. Thats probably because I haven’t washed it in god knows how long. I’ve lost so much weight, I could see my collarbones sticking out and my face looks gaunt. I look like fuckin’ shit and I’m an idiot for thinking that no one has noticed this yet. They have, and they’re just not saying anything because, even I feel sick just looking at me. I don’t want to know what everyone else thinks when they see me.

The fucked up part is that even this can’t stop me from having the automatic urge to shoot up. I’m getting the jitters already, and that’s really bad. I get hooked on it so fuckin’ fast. Why only me? Why doesn’t anyone else in Motley get addicted? Why am I the only one who gets stuck like this?

Tommy can do the drugs and be okay.

Why can’t I do drugs and be okay?

What’s the fuckin’ point of asking these questions if I know I’ll never get them answered? I have no clue but I can’t seem to stop. It doesn’t bring me anything but misery, but I keep doing it. Seems like an ongoing pattern in my life.

Isn’t self-sabotage just great?

Now I just have to make sure T-Bone isn’t paying attention to me when I’m sneaking the smack...

Is he even awake yet? He probably doesn’t remember a thing from last night either. If he’s still here he’s being awfully quiet... very unlike him unless he’s passed out. We all know Tommy doesn’t shut up. He’s a big ball of energy 24/7. I don’t think he ever stops. He even fidgets in his sleep for god’s sake.

It’s so funny to think about how we’re so similar, yet so different. T-Bone loves emotions. The dude will do anything to feel, so it makes sense why he’s sucked into using so much blow. He loves the stimulation and the energy. Me, on the other hand... I’m obviously not the best with emotions. I prefer to not feel anything, numb it all out. Escape from the fucked up world and reality I live in. The smack helps me with that, and so does the alcohol. If I have too much coke I end up paranoid and hallucinate, so I have to bring myself down with smack. It works. I feel like heroin would freak T-Bone out... Maybe that’s why he never got hooked.

I peek my head out of the bathroom to see if Tommy is around, before I sneak my arm into the suitcase to find the baggy that I hid, and to my surprise, the compartment that I kept it in is empty.

My heart starts beating immediately, because shit. If it’s not in there, that means someone found it, and if someone found it, that means Tommy could have been that person.

And fuck. I need that smack. I need it now. 

Fuck.

I’m trying to find my panic, as I’m feeling the withdrawal shakes coming on a little stronger, and I’m doing my best to try to not make this as obvious as it is, but who am I fooling, honestly? I’m sick of pretending everything is okay, but I really don’t have any other choice.

My life is falling apart at the seams, but I still just can’t tell anyone that.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, starting to silently pray that I’ll make it though this moment before I can find another fuckin’ dealer.

All of a sudden, I’m snapped out of my thoughts by a familiar voice.

“You lookin’ for this?”

I’m caught off guard, snap my head up and see T-Bone standing in front of me, holding something in his hand.

I blink a few times to get my vision to focus, and when I do, I see it.

The baggy of smack and my two syringes are in his fuckin’ hands, and oh god, I feel like I’m about to be sick.

My stomach drops and I feel a huge pressure in my chest like I’m about to lose the ability to breathe, because fuck. This is it. I’m fuckin’ screwed. The one thing that I feared would happen this whole time on this tour actually happened, and I have no fuckin’ way out this time.

I can only imagine what T-Bone is feeling and thinking right now. God, I don’t want to even think about that. 

I suddenly start to feel some anger bubbling up inside of me because, he had no fuckin’ right.

He had NO right to go through my shit, and he had NO right to take that away from me, and he had NO right——

“Give that back to me.”

I can feel Sikki starting to come out, and I know once that happens I don’t have any control anymore. It switches so fast, I can’t even stop it.

Tommy just stares at me, dangling my shit in front of his face. He’s giving me a sarcastic looking smirk, but I know that deep inside he’s probably breaking and screaming. There’s probably tears that he’s holding back, and fuck, I’m hurting him, again.

“Oh, why? So you can shoot up?!”

It’s a mix of sarcasm and anger, but even I can hear the hint of pain in his voice. 

I want to look away, and avoid, but I try my best to resist. He’s staring right at me with fire in his eyes. He’s staring so hard that he could probably see right through me right now.

“You fuckin’ lied to me! YOU LIED!” 

Jesus, when he’s angry, he’s angry. He is definitely pissed.

“You said you weren’t gonna do this shit anymore!”

I wish I could just apologize and be honest. I wish I could tell the truth and take back everything I’ve done, but I can’t. I can’t and now I’m stuck in this situation, so of course, my defenses come on full fire and I’m shielded with the only emotion I know how to express: anger.

“Tommy, chill the fuck out! It’s fine! It was one day! Let it go!”

Always so fuckin’ honest. Nice going, asshole. Of course you can’t just be honest for one goddamn day, can you? You really are a piece of shit. This is why no one fuckin’ appreciates you or takes you seriously.

My heart hurts knowing I just spit a lie out that easily, when we all know it’s been over a fuckin’ month that I’ve been scoring that shit.

It’s even more painful to hear T-Bone sound so desperate.

“How am I supposed to let something like this go, Nik?! I knew something was up from the start of the tour. You’ve been hiding it this whole time!”

The worst part of all of this is that everything he’s saying is true, but I just can’t admit it or accept it. 

I can feel my whole body tensing up.

Of course no one fuckin’ trusts you. You do lie. You lie about everything. This is why they treat you like a kid. This is no one else’s fault but yours, JUST BE HONEST GODDAMMIT!

“This really isn’t any of your goddamn business! You’re treating me like a kid!”

“It’s because I care about you, goddammit! Okay?!” I want to cringe and run away because I can feel the hurt. It’s so evident in his voice. He’s not hiding it anymore. “I know you don’t care about yourself but that doesn’t mean I should stop caring!”

I freeze.

Way to tell it like it is, T-Bone.

That sent chills throughout my whole body, and I’m trying to look everywhere that I can but at him. I don’t want to face him or this reality. It hurts way too bad. I do the only thing I know how to do to protect myself.

“Shut up.”

God, is that the only defense you know?

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I can’t take this. I need him to leave me alone. I need him to get out, and I need him to give me back my fuckin’ smack, because this is getting really uncomfortable.

“No! I won’t shut up, Sixx! You know why?” He comes closer to me and screams in my face. “You need to accept the fact that people give a shit about you.”

That’s the biggest fuckin’ lie I’ve heard in my life, and NO ONE will convince me otherwise. It’s bullshit, so T-Bone please just shut the fuck up and GO AWAY.

“I don’t need to do anything.”

Tommy looks at me and throws his hands up in the air, exasperated.

“See? All you do is avoid! You avoid reality! You can’t run away from everyone you know! Life doesn’t work that way.”

I smirk.

“Oh yeah? Fucking watch me.”

I stand up, as T-Bone grabs my shoulders to stop me.

“Seriously, Sixx... YOU NEED TO FACE THE TRUTH FOR ONCE! It won’t kill you!” He dangles the baggy in my face. “THIS WILL!”

I shut my eyes, bite my lip, and take a deep breath, as I cringe.

“Tommy, I swear to god.”

“WHAT?! What? Huh? You swear to god, what? You’re gonna kick me out of the room right? You’re gonna throw a fit now? Because I’m not letting you fool yourself? Is that what you’re gonna do?”

He’s freaking the fuck out and I think he’s overreacting just a bit, and it’s irritating me now. I pull away from his grip.

“T-Bone, I am getting sick of your crap...”

“Well I’m getting sick of watching you kill yourself and not giving a fuck about it!” He looks at me with wide eyes. “Do you know how much this hurts?!”

Yes, T-Bone, I do know how much this fuckin’ hurts you. That’s why I can’t tell you the fuckin’ truth! It hurts me to see you so upset about this. It hurts because I know I’ve caused this whole thing and I hate to see you like this. I can’t face it. It’s too painful. I know T-Bone. I fuckin’ KNOW. I’ve hurt you way too much already and I’m just hurting you more right now. 

“IT WAS ONE FUCKING TIME!”

Fuck!

Sikki, TELL HIM THE GODDAMN TRUTH!

Why the fuck can’t you just do that?!

“BULLSHIT! This much smack wasn’t used for ONE time!”

He’s seeing through all of my lies. Every single one. Meanwhile, I can’t stop doing it. What the hell is wrong with me?!

“How would you fucking know?! You didn’t know anything about junk until I introduced it to you!”

“Oh stop being a fucking smart ass with me!”

“Then stop sticking your ass in places where it doesn’t belong!” I’m screaming at this point, because I don’t know what else to do. “And give me back my fucking smack!”

There was a long pause.

T-Bones eyes were locked on me.

“No.”

I feel like a ticking time bomb. I’m about to explode any minute now if I don’t get that smack back.

“You had no right to go snoop through my shit anyway. Let me guess, did FRED TELL YOU TO DO IT?!”

That fuckin’ bastard.

“Well SOMEONE was going to!”

I roll my eyes and groan.

“Oh, here we go again...”

“What?!”

That was it. I hit the time limit and I was exploding. All that anger I was feeling cane pouring outta me like volcanic lava.

“You act like you’re so fucking innocent! You’re all fucked up and you know it, but NOOOO, it’s ALWAYS about me! Always about how FUCKED UP NIKKI IS. How much SIXX IS DESTROYING THE BAND and how much SIXX IS FUCKING EVERYTHING UP! How about you take a good look at yourself for a goddamn change!”

I bolt to my bathroom, grab a bottle of Jack, and throw it, letting it shatter into a million pieces.

I’m trying so hard to fight back the tears that are welling in my eyes, because no way in fuckin’ HELL am I letting Tommy see my cry. Oh, god, no fuckin’ way. No one sees this. No one is allowed to know I have feelings like this. They can’t see I’m fragile. They can’t see that I’m exposed and raw and vulnerable.

It’s not SAFE enough.

It’s never SAFE enough.

All I know is that I have to find a fuckin’ dealer, and I have to find one now.

Before I could even think, I’m bolted out the door, and I’m halfway down the hallway when I hear Tommy running after me.

“Sixx... Nikki wait!”

I keep running and ignoring. That’s what I do best. I just keep on fucking running away from every goddamn problem in my life. Obviously that hasn’t gotten me anywhere, but I keep doing it anyway.

Tommy is desperate though. It’s so painfully obvious how much he’s trying to get through to me. He wants to fix me so bad, but I think me and you both know the truth: I’m unfixable.

He hasn’t given up yet, and I don’t know why. Why the hell hasn’t he? How haven’t I scared him away yet? I’m a piece of work but he’s a way bigger piece of work for staying with my fucked up ass. Eventually he’s gonna lose it and have a mental breakdown... and the sad part is that that still won’t make him leave.

“Nikki, I know you can hear me.”

Shut up.

Nows not the time T-Bone, Jesus Christ.

Please...

“I’m sorry, okay? Please just answer me.”

“WHAT?!” I snap back at him, eyes wide.

Tommy looks so shocked. Fuck... I feel kind of bad snapping at him like that, but shit I can’t help it. 

I just keep on fucking things up, don’t I?

“I... I said I’m sorry...”

His voice is barely a whisper. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Tommy speak so quietly. He sounds timid, almost... scared.

Nice going, Nikki...

...or should I say.... Sikki.

* * *

Tommy’s P.O.V.

November 1987:

I thought he was doing better, man. I thought he was okay. But he’s not. He’s not and now I’m scared. I feel like an idiot. I should have noticed all of the signs sooner. It’s not fair that I can’t do anything to help him. I keep trying, because all I want to do is make everything okay, but I can’t. He won’t let me. He freaks out on me and gets all defensive and resistant and honestly it’s a little scary. I know its really not him talking... but it doesn’t matter. He says he’s “unfixable.” I know you can’t fix a problem that you don’t have, but I’m pretty sure Nikki knows he’s in deep throws right now. He’s past the denial. Now it’s the question of whether or not he wants to get better... that’s the part that scares me. I don’t know if he actually does. It scares me because I can’t imagine having to face the reality of losing him. He knows it’ll kill him if he doesn’t stop, but he won’t and can’t. I wouldn’t be able to navigate my own life without him. There would be a huge void in my heart and soul if he was gone, and I don’t even wanna think about that, but that’s all I Fucking think about now.

Thank god we have a few weeks off from touring to hang out back home before we go off to Japan and Europe... I think we all need it.

* * *

Nikki’s P.O.V.

November 1987:

It feels weird to be back in my own house. I almost forgot what it felt like to be here. We have a week off before we go off to Canada to perform their wing of the tour. I’m fuckin’ exhausted, and don’t know how I’m gonna even make it through the next few months... 

The past few shows have been so tense with what happened between me and T-Bone. I’m pretty sure everyone knows what’s been going on now, and it’s been making things worse. I’m happy I can use this week to hide from the world and disconnect before I have to go back out again and be human. It takes up way too much energy. I’m sick of putting on my ridiculous facade for the fans all the time. If they really knew what goes on inside of my head they would be horrified.

If Tommy knew what happened in my head... oh god.

His voice won’t stop replaying in my head.

“HELP ME UNDERSTAND! I JUST WANT TO HELP YOU - I WANT TO UNDERSTAND!”

I’m cringing... I want to explain. I just can’t.

“It’s too confusing... You wouldn’t understand... You don’t WANT to understand.”

It would break his heart if he knew the truth. I’m already hurting him by doing this shit; If he knew how I really felt... it would kill him.

He cares so much... maybe TOO much. I know all he wants to do is FIX me. He doesn’t understand that he CAN’T fix me. I’m unfixable. I’m too far gone... I’ve become a hopeless case. I’m broken beyond repair... You can’t fix something that’s been broken down as far as I’ve been. I’ve dug myself way too deep into this hole to be able to climb out again. I’ve lost the ability to envision the future, because I don’t have one at this point. I know deep down in my heart and soul that I’m not gonna be living much longer. I can feel myself rotting away, a slow painful, torturous death.

I won’t be surprised if T-Bone shows up here to check up on me and play mother goose.

* * *

Tommy’s P.O.V.

I stopped by Nikki’s house... Maybe I shouldn’t have. Things are really going downhill fast. He looks like hell. He was hardly coherent with me, he probably didn’t even realize I was actually there. I couldn’t stay long at all because I thought I was gonna end up breaking down. I hate being so sensitive... It makes me feel like such a pussy.

I don’t know when the days gonna come. The day when I get a phone call saying that Nikki is dead. Every time I go to see him I’m terrified because he looks worse than the last. And every single time I pray to god that I won’t find him unconscious or not breathing. Sometimes I have nightmares about it. I know I sound like a pussy but I’m not sugar coating this any more. I’m petrified. And I feel completely helpless at this point. 

I hardly see glimpses of the real Nikki anymore. The drugs took complete control and he’s powerless over them again. And it breaks my heart. It shatters it into a million tiny pieces that I try to piece back together but I just CAN’T. I can’t wrap my head around this. 

* * * 

Nikki’s P.O.V

I thought being back home would have been a good thing.... It’s not.

My dreams are flooded with horrible memories of my childhood, and I can’t do anything to deal with them. I wish I didn’t have a brain.

You have no idea... The shit that happens inside of my head is haunted.

I’m scared.

So scared.

Always scared.

Helpless.

I can’t stop the spiral of self-destruction I’ve trapped myself into... I feel like a hamster on a wheel. I’ve been running in circles... trying to run from my past, escape my emotions, block out the pain. I’ve gotten nowhere —- I can’t escape anything. All it’s done has come back to haunt me... every single waking moment that I am living on this fucked up earth.

I used to be that bastard who would laugh at others who contemplated suicide.

Now I’m the one who feels that’s the only option I have.


End file.
